STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE 


BY 


G,    W,    GI\IFFIN 


BALTIMORE  : 

HENRY  C.  TURNBULL,  JR. 
1870. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

HENRY  C.  TURNBULL,  JR. 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Maryland. 


TO 

VIRGILINE, 

OUR   SWEETEST  JOY   AND   BRIGHTEST   HOPE, 
THIS   VOLUME 

IS 
AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE,  .                                                    .             1 

VICTOR  HUGO,  -                                                              -       25 

MARMONTEL'S  BELISARIUS,  -                     ...            80 

VATHEK,  -                     -       39 

THE  TEMPEST,       -  47 

THE  SCARLET  LETTER,      -  -       52 

EDWIN  BOOTH'S  MACBETH,  -  -                     ...            58 

PERCY  BTSSHE  SHELLEY,  -                                                    ...       69 

ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA^    -  76 

CYMBELINE,      -  ....       83 

HAMLET,        -  -  89 

DAVID  GARRICK,        -  ....       97 

THACKERAY,  -          104 

ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL,         -  -     I  9 

DREAMING,  •  117 

DANTE,     -  -     121 

THE  GYPSIES,        -  126 

AUTOGRAPHS,  -  -      132 

JANAUSCHEK,        -  .                      144 

A  PHILOLOGICAL  STUDY, 152 


STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE. 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE. 

THE  life  of.  this  distinguished  poet  and  journalist  has 
been  a  crown  of  glory  to  the  world ;  but  only  those  who 
have  been  brought  within  the  charmed  circle  of  his  ac 
quaintance,  and  enjoyed  his  confidence  and  friendship,  can 
form  the  least  idea  of  the  peerless  grace  and  lofty  beauty 
of  his  soul.  He  seemed  to  belong  to  a  higher  order  of 
beings  than  those  of  this  earth ;  and  I  can  but  feel,  in  ap 
proaching  the  subject  of  his  memory,  that  I  am  treading  upon 
sacred  ground.  He  was  my  best  and  truest  friend.  I  con 
sulted  him  upon  nearly  every  duty  and  obligation  that  I 
owed  to  society  and  to  the  world,  and  I  always  found  him 
the  wisest  and  gentlest  teacher,  and  the  safest  and  surest 
guide.  His  heart  was  so  eloquent  in  the  deep  pathos  and 
purity  of  its  affections,  that  I  was  never  in  his  presence  with- 
i 


2  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

out  feeling  wiser  and  better.  I  had  known  him  so  long  and 
well,  and  had  been  the  recipient  of  so  many  acts  of  love 
and  kindness  from  his  hands,  that  I  began  to  look  upon  his 
existence  as  necessary  for  my  happiness  upon  earth.  There 
was  nothing  that  he  could  do  for  me  that  he  did  not  do  cheer 
fully.  In  no  instance  did  he  endeavor  to  make  me  sensible 
of  the  obligation  I  owed  him,  but  ever  appeared  more  like 
the  receiver  than  the  giver.  There  has  scarcely  been  a  day 
during  the  past  five  years  that  I  did  not  see  him,  or 
receive  some  message  from  him.  It  was  his  custom  to 
spend  at  least  two  evenings  in  every  week  at  my  house.  A 
chair  was  placed  for  him  regularly  at  our  table,  and  no  one 
was  allowed  to  occupy  it  during  his  absence.  This  little 
mark  of  respect  seemed  always  to  please  him  exceedingly, 
for  even  trivial  kindnesses  were  never  passed  unnoticed  by 
him,  and  those  who  conferred  them  were  always  well 
paid  by  some  pleasant  word  or  acknowledgment.  There 
was  a  mildness,  a  dignity,  a  love  and  a  patience  about  him 
that  seemed  peculiarly  his  own ;  and  now  that  he  is  dead 
I  feel  half  ashamed  of  the  little  that  I  can  add  to  his 
memory. 

GEORGE  DENNISON  PRENTICE  was  born  at  Griswold, 
Connecticut,  on  the  i8th  of  December,  1802.  He  dis 
played  very  early  in  life  talents  of  no  common  order.  He 
excited  the  admiration  of  every  one  who  knew  him  by  the 
marvellous  facility  with  which  he  acquired  the  most  diffi 
cult  and  complicated  branches  of  knowledge.  He  was 
able  to  read  fluently  when  only  four  years  of  age.  He  was 
a  fine  Greek  and  Latin  scholar,  and  at  the  age  of  fifteen 
could  translate  and  parse  any  sentence  in  Homer  or  Vir 
gil.  At  this  time  he  was  prepared  to  enter  the  Sophomore 
class  at  college,  but  was  compelled  to  teach  a  district  school 
in  order  to  defray  the  expense  of  a  collegiate  education. 
In  1820  he  entered  Brown  University,  at  Providence, 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  3 

Rhode  Island,  where  he  was  graduated  in  1823.  A  few 
years  later  he  studied  law,  and  was  soon  admitted  to  the 
bar.  He  did  not  find  the  law  congenial  to  his  tastes,  and 
he  devoted  himself  to  the  profession  of  literature.  In  1828 
he  started  the  New- England  Review.  This  paper  was  a 
success  from  the  beginning.  The  editor  at  once  distin 
guished  himself  by  his  bold  and  incisive  style  of  writing. 
In  1830  he  left  the  New- England  Review  in  charge  of  the 
poet  Whittier,  and  accepted  an  invitation  to  go  to  Ken. 
tucky  for  the  purpose  of  writing  the  biography  of  Henry 
Clay.  As  soon  as  he  reached  Lexington,  the  home  of  Mr. 
Clay,  he  went  to  work  at  once  upon  the  biography.  It  was 
.  completed  in  a  very  short  time.  It  met  with  a  most  enthusi 
astic  reception,  not  only  from  the  people  of  Kentucky,  but 
from  the  entire  Whig  party  of  the  nation.  It  contains  by  far 
the  most  correct  account  ever  given  to  the  public,  of  the  life 
of  that  distinguished  statesman,  as  well  as  the  most  anima 
ted  and  eloquent  exposition  of  the  political  principles  of  his 
party.  Mr.  Clay  cherished  for  his  biographer  the  warmest 
feelings  of  affection,  and  often  said  that  he  owed  the  greater 
part  of  his  fame  to  him.  It  is  almost  useless  to  speak  of  the 
services  Mr.  PRENTICE  rendered  Mr.  Clay,  for  they  are  so 
manifold  and  varied  that  the  names  of  the  great  statesman 
and  journalist  are  inseparably  associated. 

Mr.  PRENTICE  removed  to  Louisville  in  the  month  of 
September,  1830,  and  on  the  24th  day  of  the  following 
November  he  published  the  first  number  of  the  Louisville 
Journal.  The  politics  of  the  country  were  at  that  time 
exciting  in  the  extreme.  The  Democratic  party  determined, 
if  possible,  to  defeat  Mr.  Clay  in  his  own  State.  The  lead 
ing  Democratic  organ  in  Kentucky  was  a  paper  called  the 
Louisville  Advertiser.  It  was  under  the  editorial  manage 
ment  of  Shadrack  Penn,  one  of  the  most  eloquent  and  ef 
fective  writers  in  the  State.  Mr.  Penn's  friends  had  the 


4  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

most  unbounded  confidence  in  him.  They  predicted  that 
he  would  demolish  Mr.  PRENTICE  at  a  single  blow. 

Those  who  remember  the  warfare  waged  between  these 
two  knights  of  the  quill,  have  no  difficulty  in  realising  that 
there  were  giants  in  those  days.  Each  of  the  editors  was 
recognised  as  a  champion  with  whom  ordinary  mortals 
must  not  interfere.  In  their  respective  fields  of  force  they 
>  possessed  powers  rarely  rivalled.  Mr.  Penn  had  a  great  ad 
vantage  in  a  well  and  widely  established  reputation  in  the 
venue  where  the  case  was  to  be  tried,  while  Mr.  PRENTICE 
was  comparatively  a  stranger,  and  apparently  weak.  Mr. 
Penn  had  rarely  met  an  editor  able  to  cope  with  him. 
After  he  had  vanquished  the  redoubtable  Amos  Kendall, 
on  the  Old  and  New  Court  issues  which  convulsed  the 
State,  Mr.  Penn  was  the  recognised  champion  of  the 
party  that  had  triumphed  in  the  great  contest  in  which 
those  issues  were  tried.  In  this  condition  of  things,  it  is 
not  likely  that  Mr.  Penn  dreaded  any  contemporary  writer 
on  politics.  The  comparatively  young  Connecticut  writer 
had  fully  surveyed  the  ground  before  consenting  to  link 
himself  with  the  enterprise  of  a  new  daily  paper  in  Louis 
ville.  He  had  measured  the  powers  of  the  veteran  Penn, 
but  he  had  unbounded  confidence  in  his  own  powers. 

When  the  emeute  began  to  brew  in  the  Advertiser,  Mr. 
PRENTICE  gave  an  admonitory  warning,  announcing  that 
without  desiring  strife  he  was  ready  for  it.  He  stated  that 
his  editorial  quiver  was  armed  with  quills  of  all  sizes,  from 
those  of  the  humming-bird  to  those  of  the  eagle.  The  war 
began,  and  was  waged  with  activity  and  vigor  for  the 
space  of  eleven  years.  Each  of  the  combatants  possessed 
great  powers,  and  up  to  the  end  of  the  war  each  had  hosts 
of  friends.  Mr.  PRENTICE  became  famous  throughout  the 
Union.  The  remarkable  purity  of  his  diction  —  a  purity  in 
which  he  had  few  equals  and  no  superior ;  his  wonderful 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  5 

versatility  of  expression,  by  which  he  was  able  to  use  the 
same  thing  many  times,  and  never  twice  alike  ;  the  Attic 
salt  of  his  wit,  the  torturing  power  of  his  irony,  his  satire 
and  sarcasm,  the  terse  epigrammatic  force  which  enabled 
him  often  to  overwhelm  an  antagonist  in  a  single  sentence, 
made  him  the  most  popular  and  renowned  journalist  in  the 
country.  These  qualities  made  Mr.  PRENTICE  a  power  in 
the  land  ;  a  power  which  he  never  abused.  He  was  at  all 
times  placable,  even  with  those  who  had  most  abused  him. 
This  is  beautifully  portrayed  in  his  reconciliation  with  Mr. 
Penn.  I  am  indebted  to  Dr.  T.  S.  Bell,  of  Louisville,  for 
an  account  of  this  noble  feature  in  the  lives  of  the  two 
renowned  journalists.  Dr.  Bell  was  the  intimate  friend  of 
each  of  the  editors  ;  and  on  the  eve  of  the  departure  of  Mr. 
Penn  for  St.  Louis,  Dr.  Bell  proposed  to  both  gentlemen 
the  project  of  an  interview.  Each  assented  to  the  propo 
sal,  and  each  of  them  gave  Dr.  Bell  full  power  to  act  for 
him.  The  interview  took  place  at  Dr.  Bell's  office,  and 
commenced  and  ended  most  happily.  Mr.  PRENTICE 
began  by  expressing  the  hope  that  the  necessity  of  Mr. 
Penn's  departure  was  not  absolute,  and  begged  to  know  of 
Mr.  Penn  whether  he,  Mr.  PRENTICE,  could  be  of  any  ser 
vice  in  aiding  him  to  remain.  He  eloquently  alluded  to 
the  long  series  of  Kentucky  enterprises,  and  the  numerous 
recognised  schemes  for  the  prosperity  of  Louisville,  that 
endeared  Mr.  Penn  to  the  principles  of  Kentucky,  and  Mr. 
PRENTICE  deplored  the  departure  of  Mr.  Penn  from  the 
State  as  a  public  calamity.  Towards  the  close  of  the  in 
terview,  Mr.  PRENTICE  assured  Mr.  Penn  of  his  earnest 
purpose  to  give  him  all  the  aid  in  his  power  towards 
making  Mr.  Penn's  career  in  Missouri  a  success.  This 
pledge  he  fulfilled.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  anything 
more  beautiful  of  its  kind  than  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  tribute  to 
Mr.  Penn  upon  the  departure  of  the  latter  for  St.  Louis. 


6  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  JURE. 

Mr.  PRENTICE  read  the  article,  before  publishing  it,  to  Dr. 
Bell,  as  the  common  friend  of  Mr.  Penn  and  of  him 
self,  and  asked  for  any  suggestions  for  elaborating  this 
magnanimous  editorial.  I  need  not  add  that  Mr.  Penn 
was  much  gratified  with  it. 

Mr.  PRENTICE  was  one  of  the  most  industrious  men  that 
ever  edited  a  daily  paper.  He  wrote  with  great  facility, 
but  kept  himself  well  posted  in  all  political  matters,  not 
only  those  that  were  contemporary  with  him,  but  with  those 
of  the  past.  Until  within  a  few  years  he  never  left  the  office 
until  the  editorial  page  was  imposed  as  he  desired  it  to 
be,  and  locked  up  in  the  chase. 

In  1840  he  was  attacked  with  a  disease  called  Chorea 
Seriptorum,  caused  by  excessive  writing.  This  disease 
shows  itself  only  when  the  hand  attempts  to  write. 
Mr.  PRENTICE,  could  handle  other  things  than  a  writing  in 
strument  without  any  trouble.  Indeed,  for  a  long  time 
after  the  appearance  of  the  disease,  he  was  able  to  write 
many  words  until  the  thumb  was  pressed  towards  the  index 
ringer,  when  the  pen  would  fly  from  him  as  though  some 
one  had  struck  it.  One  morning  while  suffering  in  this 
way,  he  composed  a  beautiful  song  for  his  friend,  Dr.  T.  S. 
Bell.  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  amanuensis  was  not  in,  and  he  step 
ped  over  to  the  Doctor's  office,  and  asked  him  to  write 
something  for  him,  saying  "  It  is  for  you  and  your  wife. "  Mr. 
PRENTICE  then  dictated  the  following  beautiful  lines,  which 
were  afterwards  set  to  music  by  a  distinguished  artist  of 
Poland : 

"  We've  shared  each  other's  smiles  and  tears 

Through  years  of  wedded  life  ; 
And  love  has  bless'd  those  fleeting  years, 
My  own,  my  cherished  wife. 

"  And  if,  at  times,  the  storm's  dark  shroud 

Has  rested  in  the^air, 
Love's  beaming'sumhas  kissed  the  cloud, 
And  left  the  rainbow  there. 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  7 

"  In  all  our  hopes,  in  all  oar  dreams, 

Love  is  forever  nigh, 
A  blossom  in  our  path  it  seems, 
A  sunbeam  in  our  sky. 

"  For  all  our  joys  of  brightest  hue 
Grow  brighter  in  love's  smile, 
And  there's  no  grief  our  hearts  e'er  knew 
That  love  could  not  beguile." 

Those  who  were  not  acquainted  with  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  for 
giving  nature,  have  been  surprised  that  his  enemies  should 
so  often  display  a  readiness  to  forget  and  forgive  the  many 
severe  things  he  said  about  them. 

At  one  time,  Mike  Walsh,  a  prominent  Democratic  politi 
cian  of  New  York,  provoked  a  quarrel  with  him,  and  was 
severely  punished  for  his  temerity.  Mr.  PRENTICE  handled 
him  without  gloves,  and  let  fall  a  perfect  torrent  of  wit  and 
sarcasm  and  satire  against  him.  At  the  time  of  the  contro 
versy  Mr.  PRENTICE  and  Mr.  Walsh  were  personally  strangers 
to  each  other,  and  as  may  naturally  be  supposed  the  latter 
did  not  care  to  alter  the  relation.  They  met,  however, 
some  time  afterward,  at  a  dinner-party  in  Washington  city. 
Walsh  was  a  splendid-looking  man.  He  was  tall  and 
commanding,  and  everything  about  him  denoted  dignity 
and  elegance  of  demeanor.  As  Mr.  PRENTICE  advanced, 
Walsh  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  upon  him  without  offering  his 
hand,  and  exclaimed :  "  You  are  GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE,  are 
you  ? "  Mr.  PRENTICE  bowed  an  assent,  and  Walsh  said  : 
"  You  must  know,  sir,  that  I  like  you ;  although  you  have 
skinned  me  from  the  crown  of  my  head  to  the  soles  of  my 
feet,  your  instrument  was  so  sharp  and  so  skilfully  used 
that  the  operation  was  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise." 

During  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  long  and  eventful  life  he  was 
engaged  in  many  controversies,  and,  strange  to  say,  he 
invariably  came  out  triumphant.  Some  of  his  controversies 


8  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

led  to  violent  personal  encounters ;  but  I  have  his  own 
testimony,  and  that  of  many  of  the  oldest  and  best  citizens 
of  Louisville,  that  he  was  not  the  aggressor  in  a  single 
instance. 

Some  years  ago,  George  James  Trotter,  editor  of  the 
Kentucky  Gazette,  fired  at  him  on  Market  street,  in  Louis 
ville,  without  the  slightest  warning,  and  wounded  him 
near  the  heart.  Mr.  PRENTICE,  with  knife  in  hand,  instantly 
threw  him  to  the  ground,  and  held  him  irresistibly  in  his 
grasp.  A  large  crowd  gathered  around  the  scene,  and 
nearly  every  one  present  cried  out,  "Kill  him  !  kill  him  !  " 
Mr.  PRENTICE  instantly  let  go  his  hold,  and  exclaimed  : 
"  I  cannot  kill  a  disarmed  and  helpless  man  !  " 

Mr.  PRENTICE'S  forgiving  nature  was  so  widely  known 
that  those  who  had  wronged  him  most  did  not  hesitate  to 
accost  him  in  terms  of  apparent  friendship. 

On  one  occasion,  Thos.  Jefferson  Pew,  without  the 
slightest  provocation,  said  some  very  scandalous  things 
about  him.  Pew  was  so  unworthy  of  PRENTICE'S  notice 
that  I  do  not  believe  he  ever  replied  to  him ;  but  one 
morning,  several  years  afterward,  he  had  the  audacity  to 
enter  PRENTICE'S  office.  Pew  was  in  a  wretched  and  filthy 
condition ;  his  clothes  were  worn  and  seedy,  and  with  un 
combed  hair  and  unshaved  face,  he  presented  a  most  disgust 
ing  and  loathsome  appearance.  He  called  PRENTICE  aside, 
and  after  some  conversation  left  the  office.  Fortunatus 
Cosby,  the  distinguished  poet,  was  in  the  room  at  the  time, 
and  asked  Mr.  PRENTICE  the  name  of  his  unsightly  visitor. 
Mr.  PRENTICE  replied  :  "  He  is  Thos.  Jefferson  Pew.  He 
told  me  that  he  was  in  distress,  and  that  he  wanted  two 
dollars  and  a  half  for  the  purpose  of  going  to  see  his 
mother."  "Yes,"  said  Cosby,  "and  I  suppose  you  were 
silly  enough  to  give  it  to  him  ? "  "  No,"  replied  PRENTICE, 
"  I  recollected  that  I  had  a  mother,  and  asked  myself  the 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE,  9 

question  what  she  would  have  thought  of  me  had  I  ap 
peared  before  her  in  such  a  filthy  condition,  and  I  gave 
him  twenty-Jive  dollars,  and  told  him  to  go  to  see  his  mother 
in  the  garb  of  a  gentleman." 

In  1835  Mr.  PRENTICE  was  married  to  Miss  Harriet 
Benham,  the  daughter  of  Col.  Joseph  Benham,  a  distin 
guished  lawyer  of  Kentucky. 

The  Louisville  Journal,  under  the  guidance  of  Mr.  PREN 
TICE,  for  a  period  of  thirty  years  probably  exercised  more 
political  power  and  influence  than  any  other  paper  in 
America.  It  has  been  said,  and  said  truly,  that  "  among 
the  newspaper-press  it  was  a  monocrat."  It  exercised  as 
much  influence  in  the  field  of  literature  as  in  the  field  of 
politics.  It  made  and  unmade  poets  and  essayists  as  well 
as  politicians  and  statesmen.  A  writer  whose  contributions 
appeared  in  its  columns  considered  his  reputation  as  an 
author  established.  Fortunatus  Cosby,  John  J.  Piatt,  Ame 
lia  Welby,  Sallie  M.  Bryan  and  many  others  equally  distin 
guished,  owe  their  first  public  introduction  to  it. 

Its  editor  became  daily  more  and  more  popular.  He 
was  known  almost  as  well  in  Europe  as  in  America.  He 
scorned  to  be  subservient  to  any  clique  or  party.  There 
was  no  mortgage  on  his  brain.  Everything  that  was  mean, 
or  little,  or  false,  or  meretricious,  was  foreign  to  him.  He 
never  courted  popular  applause.  It  seemed  that  there  was 
nothing  outside  of  the  range  of  his  genius.  No  such  word 
as  failure  was  written  in  his  lexicon.  He  accomplished 
everything  he  undertook.  His  learning  was  varied,  thorough, 
and  profound.  What  he  did  not  know  he  never  affected  to 
possess.  He  imitated  no  one.  He  created  models  rather 
than  followed  them.  He  had  no  especial  fondness  for 
quotations.  Whenever  he  availed  himself  of  the  writings 
of  others,  they  were  so  refined  in  the  crucible  of  his  genius 
that  they  became  his  own.  His  memory  was  not  only 


!  0  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

retentive,  but  trustworthy  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word. 
His  command  over  language  was  extraordinary.  It  was 
tyrannous.  He  could  think  of  a  thousand  words  at  once, 
and  select  the  one  best  suited  to  his  purpose.  He  was  a 
natural  grammarian.  I  have  heard  him  say  that  he  under 
stood  every  principle  of  English  grammar  as  if  by  intui 
tion,  and  that  when  a  child  he  astonished  his  teacher  by 
finishing  the  study  of  Lindley  Murray  in  less  than  a  week. 
His  style  of  writing  was  quick,  subtle,  powerful,  and  massive. 
There  was  nothing  dull  or  commonplace  about  it.  He 
wrote  with  marvellous  facility,  and  often  dashed  off  from 
six  to  ten  columns  of  printed  matter  a  day.  His  wit  was 
keen,  sparkling,  and  original.  His  humor  was  rich  and 
racy,  and  like  that  of  Lamb  and  Fielding,  at  once  broad 
and  fine.  He  was  always  willing  to  fight  an  up-hill  battle, 
for  he  was  as  skilful  in  attack  as  in  defence.  His  anger 
was  slow  to  arouse,  but  when  aroused,  it  was  like  the 
lightning's  flash,  brief  and  quick,  but  sure. 

The  affluence  of  Mr.  PRENTICE  in  genius  and  in  equip 
ments  of  education  seemed  to  be  well-nigh  endless.  He 
was  as  generous  in  the  beneficent  use  of  his  intellectual 
wealth  as  he  was  great  in  the  magnitude  of  its  possession. 
Those  who  knew  him*  intimately  during  his  editorial  career 
in  Louisville,  can  easily  call  up  from  the  storehouse  of 
memory  hundreds  of  examples  of  his  judicious,  unstinted 
and  benevolent  kindness"  to  young  aspirants  for  fame.  The 
term  judicious  kindness  is  illustrated  in  the  case  of  that 
lovely  song-bird,  Amelia.  Many  persons  who  saw  her 
charming  poems  in  the  columns  of  the  Louisville  Journal, 
and  who  knew  of  her  limited  education,  were  unable  to 
conceive  that  she  was  capable  of  writing  the  beautiful  poe 
try  that  appeared  in  her  name.  The  surmise  was  quite 
common  among  this  class  of  persons  that  Mr.  PRENTICE 
either  wrote  the  poems  or  corrected  and  dressed  them  up 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  II 

for  her.     A  distinguished  gentleman  of  Louisville  who  was 
quite  intimate  with  Amelia,  and  had  often  seen  her  write  her 
poems,  mentioned  the  current  story  on  one  occasion  to  Mr. 
PRENTICE,  who  said :  "  I  recognised  the  priceless  beauty  o 
her  genius  too  well  to  spoil  it  in  that  way.    I  never  correc 
ted  a  word  in  any  of  her  writings.     On  the  few  occasions 
when  she  had  used  a  word  which  I  would  not  have  used,  I 
sent  her  manuscript  back  to  her  with  the  defective  word 
marked,  and  she  immediately  corrected  the  diction  herself. 
Beyond  that  I  never  aided,  nor  had  occasion  to  aid  her." 
Amelia  loved  music,  and  played  instrumental  music  beau 
tifully  without  any  education  in  it.     She  sang  as  sweetly, 
and  as  melodiously,  as  she  wrote.      She  had  an  intense 
love  for  flowers,  and  possessed  a  husband  whose  gifts  as  a 
floriculturist  gave  him  power   to   abundantly  gratify  her 
floral  desires.    Some  of  her  beautiful  tributes  to  music,  birds, 
and   flowers,  adorn   the   tasteful   column   erected   to   her 
memory  in  Cavehill  cemetery. 

Nothing  in  the  career  of  Mr.  PRENTICE  was  more 
astonishing  than  the  ease  and  naturalness  with  which 
he  at  all  times  called  his  gifts  of  education  into  duty, 
when  an  occasion  called  for  their  exercise.  He  never 
used  Greek  or  Latin  words  in  his  compositions,  yet  such 
was  his  intimacy  with  those  languages  that  upon  the  spur 
of  the  moment  he  often  gave  criticisms  o!"  as  profound 
a  character  as  though  he  devoted  himself  exclusively  to 
the  study  of  the  classics.  Dr.  Bell  was  his  physician  for 
thirty-seven  years,  and  was  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends 
through  that  long  period,  yet  he  was  not  even  aware  that 
Mr.  PRENTICE  was  almost  a  perfect  master  of  mathemat 
ics  until  Dr.  S.  G.  Howe,  the  renowned  philanthropist, 
visited  Kentucky  at  the  invitation  of  a  number  of  her 
citizens,  to  aid  in  the  establishment  of  a  State  institution 
for  the  education  of  the  blind.  Dr.  Howe  brought  with 


1 2  STUDIES  IN  LITERA  TURE. 

him  a  pupil  of  the  "  Perkins  Institute  for  the  Blind,"  and 
a  pupil  also  of  Harvard  College.  This  pupil,  Mr.  Smith, 
possessed  a  remarkable  education  as  a  musician,  classical 
scholar,  linguist,  and  mathematician.  Dr.  Howe,  who  was 
a  student  of  Brown  University  with  Mr.  PRENTICE,  requested 
Mr.  PRENTICE  to  attend  the  public  meeting  of  the  citizens 
of  Louisville  where  Mr.  Smith  was  to  show  that  blindness 
was  not  a  barrier  to  the  acquisition  of  a  varied  and  exten 
sive  and  profound  education.  Mr.  PRENTICE  was  called 
upon  at  the  meeting  to  make  important  problems  for  solu 
tion  by  Mr.  Smith.  The  first  problems  were  not  remarkably 
recondite,  but  as  soon  as  Mr.  PRENTICE  discovered  Mr. 
Smith's  proficiency,  he  rose  into  the  highest  departments 
of  mathematics,  and  made  problems  that  might  have  found 
an  appropriate  place  in  Hutton's  Mathematical  Recreations, 
which  could  not  be  called  recreations  to  any  one  but  a 
profound  mathematician. 

In  1860  Mr.  PRENTICE  published  a  volume  of  his  witti 
cisms  under  the  title  of  "Prenticeana."  This  book  con 
sists  principally  of  paragraphs  from  the  Louisville  Journal, 
and  a  few  written  for  the  New  York  Ledger.  Mr.  PRENTICE 
had  for  years  been  repeatedly  solicited  to  allow  the  publi 
cation  of  such  a  volume,  but  uniformly  declined  because 
there  were  serious  objections  to  many  of  his  wittiest  para 
graphs  on  account  of  partisan  bitterness  expressed  in  them. 
He  finally  consented  to  publish  the  book,  from  a  knowledge 
of  the  fact  that  if  he  did  not  collect  his  own  paragraphs 
others  would,  and  make  the  selection  with  far  less  regard 
to  the  feelings  of  many  who  were  his  friends. 

Prenticeana  contains  about  three  hundred  pages.  There 
is  not  a  single  paragraph  in  it  that  is  not  characterised  by  the 
most  piercing  keenness  and  the  most  exquisite  aptness.  It 
does  not,  however,  contain  by  any  means  the  best  specimens 
of  PRENTICE'S  wit  and  humor,  but  there  is  probably  no  similar 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  13 

collection  in  any  language  that  will  begin  to  compare  with 
it. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  late  war  Mr.  PRENTICE  espoused 
the  cause  of  the  Union.  He  put  on  his  armor  and  went  to 
work  in  earnest.  He  infused  into  the  columns  of  his  paper 
all  the  ardor  and  enthusiasm  of  his  nature.  His  old 
friends,  many  of  whom  had  periled  their  lives  for  him, 
remonstrated  with  him,  warned  him,  and  threatened  him. 
Even  his  two  sons,  whom  he  loved  with  a  devotion  almost 
unequalled,  had  entered  the  Southern  army  to  battle  for 
what  they  deemed  a  sacred  duty  ;  but  undaunted,  he  called 
the  people  to  arms  and  to  consolidate  a  mighty  phalanx 
against  an  unrighteous  rebellion.  He  did  more.  He  used 
all  the  power  and  eloquence  of  his  genius  to  persuade  the 
Southern  people  to  put  an  end  to  hostilities  and  to  pursue 
a  hopeless  struggle  no  longer. 

I  need  not  dwell  further  upon  this  theme.  The  part  he 
enacted  has  passed  into  history.  Had  he  adopted  a  differ 
ent  course,  the  most  fearful  consequences  to  the  Govern 
ment  might  have  been  the  result. 

In  person  Mr.  PRENTICE  was  above  the  medium  height. 
His  head  was  finely  shaped ;  his  figure  was  erect,  but  his 
exceedingly  sloping  shoulders  gave  him  rather  a  drooping 
appearance.  He  was  dignified  and  elegant  in  his  bearing, 
and  graceful  and  natural  in  all  his  movements  and  actions. 
His  hands  and  feet  were  unusually  small ;  his  face  was 
round  and  full ;  his  features  were  irregular  but  not  homely. 
His  forehead  was  broad  and  high,  and  awed  the  beholder 
by  its  expression  of  intellectual  vigor.  His  eyes  were  his 
finest  feature ;  they  were  of  a  dark  brown  color,  rather 
small,  but  lustrous  and  full  of  strange  intelligence  — 

"  Deep  searching  seen,  and  seeing  from  afar." 

His  voice  was  low-toned  and  persuasive,  but,  free  as  a  foun 
tain,  it  took  the  form  of  the  conduit  thought. 


I4  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

He  was  one  of  the  finest  conversationists  I  ever  heard.  He 
illumined  every  subject  upon  which  he  touched.  He  knew 
exactly  when  to  begin  and  when  to  stop.  He  had  no  set 
speeches.  He  delivered  no  monologues.  He  never  wearied 
his  listeners  or  insulted  them  by  presuming  upon  their  ignor 
ance.  His  favorite  poets  were  Virgil,  Byron,  and  Shelley. 
He  placed  Virgil  even  above  Homer.  He  said  there  was  a 
freshness,  a  naturalness  and  a  stately  grandeur  about  the 
verses  of  Virgil  that  were  unequalled.  He  talked  more  of 
Shelley  than  of  Byron,  and  I  believe  saw  more  to  love  and 
admire  in  him  both  as  a  man  and  a  poet.  Mr.  PRENTICE, 
I  believe,  thought  more  of  Rousseau  than  of  any  other 
French  author.  He  once  asked  me  to  read  the  Nouvelles 
Heloise:  "but  for  heaven's  sake,"  said  he,  "read  it  in  the 
original  text.  There  is  a  fineness  about  Rousseau  that 
cannot  be  translated." 

Mr.  PRENTICE'S  favorite  German  author  was  Jean  Paul 
Richter.  Had  read  everything  from  his  pen.  I  heard 
him  once  advise  a  young  writer  to  adopt  Richter's  style  as 
a  model,  "that  is,"  said  he,  "  if  you  must  have  a  model." 

Mr.  PRENTICE  was  one  of  the  best  judges  of  character  I 
ever  knew.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  hide  truth  from 
him.  He  could  see  at  a  glance  through  the  most  guarded 
meanness  and  hypocrisy.  He  never  doubted  the  constancy 
of  a  friend.  Whenever  he  formed  an  attachment,  it  was 
almost  sure  to  last  through  life.  There  was  not  a  particle 
of  selfishness  in  his  nature.  He  was  kind  and  gentle 
and  charitable  to  a  fault,  and  felt  no  enmity  towards  his 
rivals.  He  never  allowed  his  political  feelings  to  alter  his 
personal  relations.  I  have  often  heard  him  speak  in  the  kind 
est  and  most  affectionate  terms  of  Mr.  Greeley.  These  two 
great  journalists  were  for  many  years  the  most  bitter  politi 
cal  opponents,  and  although  engaged  in  a  countless  num 
ber  of  polemic  duels,  neither  of  them  at  any  time  enter- 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  !ij 

tained  the  slightest  doubt  of  the  honesty  and  sincerity  of 
the  other's  convictions.  When  Mr.  Greeley  came  to  Louis 
ville  for  the  purpose  of  delivering  one  of  his  famous  lectures, 
Mr.  PRENTICE  urged  me  to  go  to  hear  him,  saying,  "  I  regard 
him  as  the  ablest  as  well  as  the  most  conscientious  journal 
ist  in  the  North ;  he  has  outlived  the  ordinary  period  of 
life,  but  his  mind  is  in  the  fullness  of  its  power.  It  is 
something  for  the  people  of  the  rising  generation  to  look 
upon  the  form  and  features  of  such  a  brave  and  daring 
chieftain.  When  he  shall  depart  from  among  us  he  will 
probably  not  leave  a  single  peer  behind." 

On  the  evening  of  Mr.  Greeley's  lecture  Mr.  PRENTICE 
occupied  a  chair  near  the  speaker's  stand,  and  listened  atten 
tively  to  every  word  that  fell  from  his  lips.  A  few  weeks 
after  the  lecture  Mr.  PRENTICE  wrote  the  following  beauti 
ful  poem  to  him,  entitled  "  To  a  Political  Opponent "  :  — 

"I  send  thee,  Greeley,  words  ot  cheer, 

Thou  bravest,  truest,  best  of  men ; 
For  I  have  marked  thy  strong  career, 

As  traced  by  thy  own  sturdy  pen. 
I've  seen  thy  struggles  with  the  foes 

That  dared  thee  to  the  desperate  fight, 
And  loved  to  watch  thy  goodly  blows, 

Dealt  for  the  cause  thou  deem'st  the  right. 

"  Thou'st  dared  to  'stand  against  the  wrong 

When  many  faltered  by  thy  side ; 
In  thy  own  strength  hast  dared  be  strong, 

Nor  on  another's  arm  relied. 
Thy  own  bold  thoughts  thou'st  dared  to  think, 

Thy  own  great  purposes  avowed ; 
And  none  have  ever  seen  thee  shrink 

From  the  fierce  surges  of  the  crowd. 

"  Thou,  all  unaided  and  alone, 

Didst  take  thy  way  in  life's  young  years, 
With  no  kind  hand  clasped  in  thy  own, 
No  gentle  voice  to  soothe  thy  tears. 


1 6  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

But  thy  high  heart  no  power  could  tame, 

And  thou  hast  never  ceased  to  feel 
Within  thy  veins  a  sacred  flame 

That  turned  thy  iron  nerves  to  steel. 

"  I  know  that  thou  art  not  exempt 

From  all  the  weaknesses  of  earth  ; 
For  passion  comes  to  rouse  and  tempt 

The  truest  souls  of  mortal  birth. 
But  thou  hast  well  fulfilled  thy  trust, 

In  spite  of  love  and  hope  and  fear ; 
And  e'en  the  tempest's  thunder-gust 

But  clears  thy  spirit's  atmosphere. 

"  Thou  still  art  in  thy  manhood's  prime, 

Still  foremost  'mid  thy  fellow-men, 
Though  in  each  year  of  all  thy  time 

Thou  hast  compressed  threescore  and  ten. 
Oh,  may  each  blessed  sympathy, 

Breathed  on  thee  with  a  tear  and  sigh, 
A  sweet  flower  in  thy  pathway  be, 

A  bright  star  in  thy  clear  blue  sky." 

I  regret  that  the  limits  prescribed  for  this  article  will  not 
admit  of  an  extended  notice  of  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  poetry.  It 
has  been  said  that "  he  wrote  verses  simply  as  a  recreation," 
and  that  "he  estimated  lightly  his  poetic  gift."  There  is 
no  truth  whatever  in  such  a  conclusion.  A  more  silly 
thought  never  took  possession  of  a  critic's  brain. 

Mr.  PRENTICE  wrote  poetry  because  he  loved  it,  because 
he  could  not  help  it,  and  because  it  was  one  of  the  elements 
.in  which  he  lived,  and  moved,  and  breathed,  and  had  his 
being.  It  was  so  deeply  interwoven  in  his  nature  that  it 
became  an  integral  part  of  it,  and  ever  clung  around  and 
about  him  as  the  tendrils  of  the  ivy  to  the  oak.  It  was  to 
his  existence  what  the  dew  and  sunshine  are  to  the  flowers. 

In  the  stillness  of  night,  when  alone  in  his  room,  "  a 
time  for  memory  and  tears,"  his  great  soul  loved  to  com 
mune  with  itself  and  the  spirit  of  the  universe.  I  have 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  17 

heard  him  say  that  at  such  moments,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
his  paralysed  hand,  he  could  have  expressed  thoughts  such 
as  only  the  truly  inspired  feel. 

His  poems  entitled  "  My  Mother's  Grave,"  and  a  little 
poem  called  "  Violets  "  (published  in  the  Ledger  a  few  weeks 
before  his  death,  but  written  last  summer),  "The  Closing 
Year,"  "The  Stars,"  "To  a  Poetess  on  her  Birth-day," 
"  The  River  in  the  Mammoth  Cave,"  are  among  his  best 
pieces. 

The  last  poem  he  ever  wrote  was  inscribed  to  my  wife. 
It  is  so  very  beautiful  that  I  hope  I  shall  be  pardoned  for 
inserting  it  here. 

"TO  MY  POETESS— A.  M.  G. 

"  Dear  Alice,  for  two  happy  hours 

I've  sat  within  this  little  nook, 
To  muse  upon  the  sweet  soul-flowers 

That  blossom  in  thy  gentle  book. 
They  lift  their  white  and  spotless  bells, 

Untouched  by  frost,  unchanged  by  time ; 
For  they  are  blessed  immortelles 

Transplanted  from  the  Eden  clime. 

"  With  pure  and  deep  idolatry 

Upon  each  lovely  page  I've  dwelt, 
Till  to  thy  spirit's  sorcery 

My  spirit  has  with  reverence  knelt. 
Oh,  every  thought  of  thine  to  me 

Is  like  a  fount,  a  bird,  a  star, 
A  tone  of  holy  minstrelsy 

Down  floating  from  the  clouds  afar  ! 

"The  fairies  have  around  thee  traced 

A  circle  bright,  a  magic  sphere, 
The  home  of  genius,  beauty,  taste, 
The  joyous  smile,  the  tender  tear. 
Within  that  circle,  calm  and  clear, 


l8  STUDIES  IN  LITERA  TURE. 

With  Nature's  softest  dews  impearled, 

I  sit  and  list  with  pitying  ear 
The  tumults  of  the  far-off  world. 

"Thy  book  is  shut — its  flowers  remain, 

'Mid  this  mysterious  twilight  gloom, 
Deep-imaged  on  my  heart  and  brain, 

And  shed  their  fragrance  through  my  room . 

Ah,  how  I  love  their  holy  bloom, 
As  in  these  moonbeams,  dim  and  wan, 

They  seem  pale  blossoms  o'er  a  tomb 
That's  closed  upon  the  loved  and  gone  ! 

"  Young  angel  of  my  waning  years, 

Consoler  of  life's  stormiest  day, 
Magician  of  my  hopes  and  fears, 

Guide  of  my  dark  and  troubled  way, 

To  thee  this  little  votive  lay 
In  gratitude  I  dedicate, 

And  with  an  earnest  spirit  pray 
God's  blessing  on  thy  mortal  state." 

"The  Closing  Year"  is  one  of  his  earliest  productions. 
It  is  more  frequently  quoted  than  any  of  his  poems.  It  is 
generally  regarded  as  his  finest  creation.  It  bears  some 
resemblance  to  Bryant's  "  Thanotopsis,"  to  which  it  has  often 
been  compared,  but  the  imagery  in  "  The  Closing  Year  "  is 
far  bolder  and  more  inspiring,  and  besides  there  is  a  greater 
breadth  of  vision  and  a  wider  range  of  imagination  in  it. 
There  is,  however,  in  "  Thanatopsis  "  a  soft  and  mellow 
beauty  which  is  hardly  equalled  in  the  other,  but  there  is  a 
compactness,  or  rather  completeness  about  Bryant's  poem 
that  seems  to  leave  no  room  for  suggestiveness. 

"  The  Closing  Year,"  however,  is  no  more  beautiful  or 
suggestive  than  some  of  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  later  productions  : 
for  instance,  "  The  Summit  of  the  Sierra  Madre,"  and  the 
"  Thoughts  on  the  Far  Past,"  written  but  a  few  months 
before  his  death. 

The  truth  is,  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  genius  shone  out  with 
increasing  splendor  toward  the  close  of  his  life. 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  19 

In  the  spring  of  1868  he  said  to  me,  "  I  have  promised  Mr. 
Bonner  to  write  ten  pieces  of  poetry  for  the  Ledger.  I  am 
glad  of  it.  I  am  growing  old ;  pain  and  sickness  and 
trouble  and  sorrow  have  laid  their  corroding  fingers  upon 
my  brow,  and  many  think  that  I  cannot  write  as  well  as  I 
did  in  my  younger  years.  I  am  determined  to  prove  to  the 
contrary,  for  the  rose  of  my  spirit  is  as  bright  and  fresh  as 
in  the  days  of  my  boyhood."  On  the  first  day  of  1869 
he  said,  "  The  past  year  was  a  bad  old  year ;  I  am  glad 
that  it  is  gone,  and  that  a  new  one  has  come  with  its  buds  of 
hope  and  promise.  I  am  determined  to  make  this  year  the 
best  year  of  my  life." 

How  well  he  fulfilled  his  resolution  is  known  to  the 
world.  There  was  not  a  line  that  fell  from  his  pen  that 
did  not  bear  upon  it  the  ineffaceable  stamp  of  his  genius. 

I  have  already  referred  to  the  affection  in  the  hands  of 
Mr.  PRENTICE.  It  is  called  Chorea  Scriptorum,  or  Scriveners, 
Cramp.  As  everything  about  Mr.  PRENTICE  is  interesting, 
and  in  relation  to  this  malady  may  be  instructive,  I  pur 
pose  to  give  some  details  additional  to  those  I  have  men 
tioned.  This  Chorea  Scriptorum  was  the  torture  of  Mr. 
PRENTICE'S  life  for  over  thirty  years.  It  showed  itself  soon 
after  an  exciting  canvass  for  the  Presidency,  during  which 
he  wrote  excessively.  After  trying  a  multitude  of  remedies* 
including  galvanism  and  electricity,  without  getting  relief, 
he  managed  to  write  by  using  a  pen  the  handle  of  which 
was  made  very  large  by  wrapping  silk  around  it.  The  pen 
was  grasped  by  all  the  fingers  and  the  thumb  kept  in  a  state 
of  extension.  This  plan  soon  began  to  fail,  and  in  view  of 
this  possibility  Mr.  PRENTICE  learned  to  write  with  his  left 
hand.  The  left  hand  soon  fell  into  the  condition  of  the 
right  one.  Amanuenses  were  then  employed,  and  upon 
these  he  was  mainly  dependent  the  rest  of  his  life.  The 
inventive  genius  of  the  country  was  taxed  for  the  invention 


20  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

of  a  suitable  writing-machine  for  him,  but  all  machines 
failed,  and  were  of  course  abandoned.  One  season  he 
went  to  New  Orleans  and  placed  himself  under  hydropathic 
treatment,  with  a  hope  of  cure.  He  pursued  this  until  his 
constitution  was  severely  ravaged.  The  entire  skin  was  in  a 
state  of  serious  paralysis.  This  induced  him  to  moderate  his 
use  of  hydropathy,  but  he  never  gave  it  up  until  a  foreigner 
whom  he  had  brought  with  him  from  New  Orleans,  and 
who  resided  with  him  because  of  his  great  pretensions  as  a 
hydropathist,  undertook  one  night  to  reduce  a  dislocation 
of  the  right  shoulder  by  pouring  pitchers  of  cold  water  over 
the  shoulder.  This  filled  the  cup  of  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  sus 
picions  of  the  ignorance  of  his  hydropathic  attendant.  The 
family  physician  was  sent  for,  and  he  immediately  reduced 
the  dislocation.  From  this  time  Mr.  PRENTICE  gave  up 
hydropathy. 

This  mysterious  disease  is  incurable  as  a  general  rule. 
Neimeyer  quotes  Fritz  for  the  most  sensible  view  of  this 
malady  that  has  been  given.  Brown-Sequard  and  Claude 
Bernard  have  explained  the  phenomena  of  reflex  actions  of 
the  nervous  system,  and  have  shown  that  they  have  their 
origin  mainly  in  the  skin.  Fritz  says  that  this  affection  is 
a  reflex  neurosis,  in  which,  however,  excitement  of  the  mater 
nerves  is  not  derived  from  the  cutaneous  nerves,  as  in  most 
reflex  neuroses,  but  proceeds  from  the  muscular  nerves. 
The  evil,  no  matter  how  long  it  may  be  quiescent  by 
abstinence  from  the  use  of  the  muscles  that  produced  the 
disorder,  will  invariably  show  itself  even  if  the  hand  merely 
is  held  in  the  position  for  the  use' that  created  the  malady. 
As  soon  as  this  special  use  is  suspended,  the  malady  ceases 
during  abstinence  from  this  use.  Mr.  PRENTICE,  notwith 
standing  his  afflictions,  occasionally  wrote  poems  and 
letters  to  his  particular  friends.  Mr.  PRENTICE  never 
wearied  talking  of  the  beauties  and  mysteries  of  nature ; 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE.  21 

and  I  have  often  listened  spell-bound,  as  it  were,  to  his 
description  of  the  Mammoth  Cave  with  its  deep  chasms, 
Stygian  pools,  awful  aisles,  fathomless  gulfs,  crystal  foun 
tains,  and  high-pillared  domes  fretted  with  the  semblance 
of  stars  and  flowers.  He  had  arranged  with  my  family  to 
visit  the  cave  during  the  coming  spring.  He  said,  "  I 
want  to  stand  once  more  upon  the  banks  of  Echo  River, 
that  wild  and  wizard  stream,  in  which  no  star  or  rainbow 
ever  glassed  their  image  of  love  and  beauty,  and  extinguish 
my  lamp  and  see  what  darkness  is." 

Mr.  PRENTICE,  at  one  time,  thought  of  retiring  from  the 
press  for  the  purpose  of  devoting  himself  wholly  to  the 
pursuit  of  poetry  and  other  light  literature.  His  son,  Col. 
Clarence  G.  Prentice,  had  purchased  a  beautiful  farm  nine 
miles  below  Louisville,  on  the  Ohio  River,  and  it  was  his 
wish  that  his  father  should  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life 
away  from  the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  city  ;  but  a  fondness 
for  newspapers  prevented  Mr.  PRENTICE  from  acceding  to 
the  wishes  of  his  son,  and  it  may  be  said  that  he  died 
literally  in  harness,  with  accumulated  and  accumulating 
duties  around  him.  The  last  time  I  saw  Mr.  PRENTICE  in 
Louisville  was  the  day  before  he  started  to  his  son's.  He 
came  to  spend  the  evening  with  us,  and  as  he  sat  in  his 
chair  in  the  library  I  thought  that  I  had  never  seen  him 
look  so  well  before.  He  was  unusually  cheerful,  and  talked 
with  much  pleasure  of  a  visit  to  his  son's  during  the  ap 
proaching  holidays ;  but  I  fancied  that  his  voice  assumed 
a  more  melancholy  tone  than  usual  when  he  said,  "  It  is 
a  dreary  trip  at  best  during  the  winter.  The  roads  are  in 
a  bad  condition,  and  I  look  forward  to  the  time  with  no 
little  anxiety  when  I  shall  again  have  the  pleasure  of 
passing  an  evening  with  you  and  Alice  and  dear  little 
Virgiline."  I  did  not  then  think  that  he  was  soon  des 
tined  to  leave  us  forever,  and  that  the  walls  of  our  little 


22  STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE. 

library  had  echoed  for  the  last  time  the  musical  tones  of 
his  much-loved  voice.  The  next  morning  he  started 
to  his  son's.  The  day  was  the  coldest  of  the  year.  He 
made  the  trip  in  an  open  carriage.  The  exposure  gave 
him  a  severe  cold,  which  resulted  in  an  attack  of  pneumonia. 
Dr.  J.  W.  Benson,  of  Louisville,  was  sent  for,  and  though 
he  treated  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  disease  with  the  utmost  skill, 
there  was  not  enough  strength  in  his  enfeebled  constitution 
to  rally  from  its  effects. 

I  saw  Mr.  PRENTICE  several  times  during  his  illness,  and 
each  time  thought  he  would  recover,  but  I  believe  that  from 
the  first  he  anticipated  his  own  destiny.  He  said,  "  It  is 
almost  impossible  for  one  who  has  suffered  as  much  as  I 
have  to  get  well ;  but  I  do  not  complain.  Death  has  no 
terrors  for  me  :  this  world  is  not  our  only  home  j  there  is  a 
brighter  and  a  nobler  existence  beyond  the  grave." 

About  a  week  after  the  interview  I  saw  him  again.  He 
appeared  to  suffer  less  pain  than  at  any  time  during 
his  illness.  He  inquired  kindly,  very  kindly,  about  some 
of  his  friends  in  Louisville,  and  expressed  a  faint  hope  that 
he  would  be  able  to  go  to  see  them  in  a  few  weeks ;  but  I 
could  see  in  his  countenance  that  he  was  calmly  and 
patiently  awaiting  the  hour  when  he  would  no  longer  be  a 
dweller  beneath  the  skies.  On  Friday,  the  2ist  of  Janu 
ary,  he  sent  me  word  that  he  was  dying.  I  felt  it  my  duty  to 
be  by  his  bed-side.  The  river  had  overflowed  its  banks 
and  the  messenger  who  arrived  from  the  farm  reported  the 
roads  in  an  almost  impassable  condition.  My  wife,  who 
had  loved  and  admired  Mr.  PRENTICE'S  poetry  from  her 
childhood,  could  not  be  dissuaded  from  accompanying  me. 

We  left  the  city  late  in  the  evening,  and  after  proceeding 
some  distance  we  were  compelled  to  leave  the  road  and 
go  through  a  dense  wood  in  order  to  avoid  the  back 
water.  The  darkness  was  enough  to  appal  stouter 


GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE. 


23 


hearts  than  ours.      At  last  we  reached  a  temporary  lake 
which  had  surrounded  the  house  of  the  dying. 

A  little  boat  was  in  waiting  to  take  us  across  the  water  ; 
but  I  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  picture  that  pre 
sented  itself  to  our  view  as  I  lifted  my  wife  into  the  boat, 
and  saw  the  physician  standing  on  the  steps  with  a  flicker 
ing  lamp  in  his  hand,  reflecting  the  scene  of  death  in  the 
background. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  we  entered  the  room. 
Mr.  PRENTICE  had  been  in  a  dying  condition  since  eight  in 
the  morning.  Not  a  murmur  or  word  of  complaint  crossed 
his  lips.  My  wife  approached  his  bed  and  said,  "  Do  you 
know  me,  Mr.  PRENTICE  ? "  He  did  not  recognise  her  at 
first,  and  thinking  she  was  Mrs.  Prentice's  little  sister, 
Josephine,  said,  "  Yes,  it  is  Josephine ; "  but  when  my  wife 
told  him  her  name,  he  said,  "  Yes,  yes,  I  know  you  now  • 
it  is  Alice." 

Mr.  PRENTICE  was  in  the  full  possession  of  his  faculties 
until  the  last  moment  of  existence ;  and  I  have  been 
informed  by  Captain  J.  M.  Hewet,  who  faithfully  nursed 
him  throughout  his  sickness,  that  in  not  a  single  instance 
did  he  abandon  that  patient  forbearance  and  elegant  polite 
ness  which  so  beautifully  characterised  all  his  actions  in 
life.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  last  words  of  great  men 
are  great  like  themselves,  and  I  felt  no  little  curiosity  to 
hear  the  last  words  of  Mr.  PRENTICE.  My  wife,  who  held 
his  hand  in  hers  at  the  time,  says  they  were  (as  near  as  she 
could  understand  them),  "  I  want  to  go,  I  want  to  go." 
I  have  often  stood  by  the  side  of  the  dying,  but  I  never 
before  beheld  a  death-scene  half  so  solemn  or  impressive. 
Mr.  PRENTICE'S  little  grandson,  Georgie,  was  asleep  on  a 
lounge  in  the  room,  unconscious  of  the  end  that  was  await 
ing  the  being  he  most  loved  upon  earth.  The  attending 
physician  had  ceased  to  hope  even  against  hope,  and  weary 


24  STUDIES  IN  LITERA  JURE. 

with  watching,  fell  asleep  in  his  chair.  At  last  Col.  Prentice 
knelt  at  the  side  of  his  father  and  exclaimed  in  accents  of 
deepest  woe,  "  Pa,  Pa,  speak  to  me  once  more ; "  but  no 
answering  word. came  to  relieve  the  awful  silence;  and  a 
few  moments  afterwards  the  golden  bowl  was  broken  and 
the  silver  cord  unstrung,  and  the  spirit  of  the  great  man 
winged  its  flight  to  the  bosom  of  the  God  who  gave  it. 


VICTOR  HUGO. 

WITH  A  GLANCE   AT  HIS  WORKS. 

VICTOR  HUGO  has  been  successful  in  every  department 
of  literature.  He  has  made  a  brilliant  reputation,  not 
only  as  an  essayist  and  novelist,  but  as  a  poet  and  drama 
tist.  His  "  Claude  Gueux,"  "  Studies  upon  Mirabeau,"  and 
"  Litterature  et  Philosophic  Melees,"  aided  in  securing  his 
election  to  the  French  Academy.  His  "  Marion  de  Lorme  " 
and  "  Lucrece  Borgia,"  in  spite  of  their  faults  and  incon 
sistencies,  and  questionable  morality,  occupy  a  prominent 
place  upon  the  stage.  His  political  speeches  and  orations 
are  read  and  studied  in  every  civilised  country  upon  the 
globe.  He  has  written  any  number  of  odes  and  ballads, 
and  lyrical  and  legendary  poems. 

He  claims  to  belong  to  one  of  the  noblest  families  of 
France.  He  traces  his  noble  descent  as  far  back  as  the 
year  1531.  His  residence,  "  Hauteville  House,"  in  the 
island  of  Guernsey,  is  famed  for  its  costly  magnificence 
and  sumptuous  splendor.  There  is  not  a  room  in  it  that 
is  not  ornamented  with  some  exquisite  carvings  and  rare 
curiosities.  Every  department  is  arranged  entirely  after 
his  own  taste  and  designs.  He  has  spent  a  large  portion 
of  his  life  in  collecting  the  rarest  works  of  art,  including 
oak  carvings  of  the  middle  ages  and  Renaissance,  ancient 
tapestries,  statues,  vases,  porcelains  and  enamels.  He  is 
2 


2  6  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

said  to  have  covered  his  walls  and  furniture  with  inscrip 
tions  and  devices  illustrative  of  the  most  eventful  passages 
in  his  life  and  of  his  peculiar  ideas  of  moral  and  ethical 
philosophy. 

His  chimney-piece  is  thus  described  by  Lecanu : 

Let  us  imagine  a  cathedral  of  carved  wood,  which,  firmly  rooted  in 
the  flooring,  rises  in  a  towering  mass  to  the  ceiling,  indenting  the  tapes 
try  above  with  its  highest  pinnacles.  The  doorway  is  represented  by 
the  hearth,  and  the  rose  window  by  a  convex  mirror  placed  above  the 
fireplace.  '  The  central  gable  rises  in  a  double  entablature,  decorated 
with  arcades  and  fantastic  foliage  in  a  deliciously  bastard  style,  in 
which  the  rococo  blends  with  Byzantine  architecture.  Surmounted  on 
this  are  two  towers,  supported  by  buttresses,  which  most  happily  repeat 
the  ornamentation  of  the  main  body.  This  crowning  piece  reminds 
one  of  the  fa9ades  of  the  guild-halls  in  Antwerp  and  Bruges.  Here, 
also,  as  in  the  roofs  of  these  old  remains  of  the  time  of  Philip  II. 
some  plain  figures  stand  out  in  rigid  simplicity,  and  give  life  to  the 
bold  indental  lines  of  the  architecture.  One  figure  is  that  of  a  bishop, 
with  a  gilt  crozier ;  and  on  two  adjacent  escutcheons  is  the  proverb  : 

CROSSE  DE  BOIS,  EVEQUE  D'OR. 
CROSSE  D'OR,  EVEQUE  DE  BOIS. 

Below  are  two  carved  figures,  representing  one,  St.  Paul,  with 

LE  LIVRE 

underneath  ;  the  other  a  monk,  and  the  words 

LE  CIEL. 

On  two  plain  volutes  are  inscribed  the  names  of  the  greatest  benefac 
tors  of  humanity,  in  chronological  order  : 

MOISE,    SOCRETE,    CHRIST,     COLOMB,     LUTHER,    DANTE,    SHAKSPEARE, 

MOLIERE. 

In  this  palatial  residence  he  indites  his  literary  works  for 
the  edification  and  corruption  of  mankind.  It  is  here  that 
he  stigmatised  the  execution  of  John  Brown  as  "  worse 
than  the  murder  of  Abel  by  Cain,"  and  said,  "  C'est  Wash 
ington  tuant  Spartacus."  It  is  here  that  he  wrote  "  The 


VICTOR  HUGO.  27 

Man  who  Laughs,"  one  of  the  most  singular  and  meretri 
cious  of  all  his  works. 

This  book  is  terribly  open  to  criticism,  but  on  that 
account  it  is  only  the  more  read  and  praised. 

We  do  not  see  how  it  can  be  regarded  in  any  other  light 
than  an  attack  upon  society,  upon  virtue  and  religion.  It 
depicts  glowingly  almost  every  species  of  villainy.  It  is 
full  of  hate,  revenge,  cruelty,  murder,  intrigue,  scandal, 
animal  passion  and  illicit  love.  There  is  scarcely  a  touch 
of  refinement  and  purity  in  it.  All  the  characters,  with 
the  exception  of  Dea,  are  intensely  coarse  and  vulgar. 

The  author  has  grouped  together  some  of  the  most 
miserable  and  contemptible  gossip  of  history.  He  stops 
in  the  midst  of  a  description  of  his  heroine,  Josiane,  a 
singular,  compound  of  beauty,  lasciviousness  and  bestial 
passion,  to  tell  us  that  "  Elizabeth  is  a  type  that  has  ruled 
in  England  for  three  centuries.  *  *  She  struck  with  her 
fist  her  maids  of  honor,  sent  Dudley  to  the  devil,  beat 
Chancellor  Burleigh,  who  whimpered  (the  old  fool),  spit 
upon  Matthew,  throttled  Hatton,  boxed  Essex  on  the  ears, 
showed  her  thigh  to  Bassompierre.  What  she  did  for  Bas- 
sompierre  the  Queen  of  Sheba  had  done  for  Solomon. 
WTherefore  it  was  correct,  holy  scriptures  having  established 
the  precedent." 

He  then  goes  on  to  say  that  Mary  Stuart  had  her  weak 
ness  for  a  Rizzio ;  Maria  Theresa  had  a  little  familiarity 
with  a  negro :  whence  the  Black  Abbess.  He  then  in 
dulges  in  the  following  amusing  contradictions  about 
Josiane :  "  Never  a  passion  had  approached  her,  and  she 
had  gone  to  the  bottom  of  them  all.  She  had  a  distaste 
for  realisation  and  a  liking  for  them  at  the  same  time." 
"  It  is  tiresome  to  be  forced  to  marry  Lord  David  when 
there  is  nothing  that  I  should  like  better  than  to  love  him." 

"Josiane,  c'etait  la  chair.  Rien  cle  plus  magnifique.  Elle  etait 
tres-grande,  trop  grande.  Ses  cheveux  etaient  de  cette  nuance  qu'on 


2  8  STUDIES  IN  L ITERA  TV  RE. 

pourrait  nommer  le  blond  pourpre.  Elle  etait  grasse,  fraiche,  robuste, 
vermeille,  avec  enormement  d'audace  et  d'esprit.  Elle  avait  les  yeux 
trop  intelligibles.  D'amant,  point ;  de  chastete,  pas  d'avantage.  Elle 
se  murait  dans  1'orgueil.  Les  hommes,  fi  done  !  un  dieu  tout  au  plus 
etait  digne  d'elle,  ou  un  monstre.  Si  la  vertu  consiste  dans  Pescarpe- 
ment,  Josiane  etait  toute  la  vertu  possible,  sans  aucune  innocence. 
Elle  n'avait  pas  d'aventures,  par  dedain  ;  mais  on  ne  1'eut  point  fachee 
de  lui  en  supposer,  pourvu  qu'elles  fussent  etranges  et  proportionnees  a 
une  personne  faite  comme  elle.  Elle  tenait  peu  a  sa  reputation  et 
beaucoup  a  sa  gloire.  Sembler  facile  et  etre  impossible,  voila  le  chef- 
d'oeuvre.  Josiane  se  sentait  majeste  et  matiere.  C'etait  une  beaute 
encombrante.  Elle  empietait  plus  qu'elle  ne  charmait.  Elle  marchait 
sur  les  coeurs.  Elle  etait  terrestre.  On  1'eut  aussi  etonnee  de  lui 
montrer  une  ame  dans  sa  poitrine  que  de  lui  faire  voir  des  ailes  sur  son 
dos.  Elle  dissertait  sur  Locke.  Elle  avait  de  la  politesse.  On  la 
soupconnait  de  savoir  1'arabe." 

In  one  sentence  the  author  tells  that  she  made  much 
of  Lord  David's  mistresses,  and  in  the  next  that  she  is 
without  spot  or  blemish.  We  can  but  believe  that  the 
most  enthusiastic  admirer  of  French  literature  will  be  com 
pletely  disgusted  with  this  intolerable  nonsense.  Even  if 
such  inconsistencies  really  existed  in  the  human  character, 
what  possible  good  can  come  from  the  portrayal  of  them 
with  such  apparent  relish  and  abandon  ? 

The  author's  conception  of  his  hero,  Gwynplaine,  is  gro- 
esque  in  the  extreme.  Gwynplaine  was  the  son  of  a  noble 
man.  The  king  wished  to  deprive  him  of  his  inheritance, 
and  ordered  him  to  be  sold  when  two  years  of  age,  and 
employed  a  physician  of  Flanders  to  mutilate  his  features 
by  performing  an  operation  called  "  bucca  fissa  usque  ad 
aures,"  which  stamps  an  eternal  laugh  upon  the  face. 

The  whimsical  exaggeration  of  this  character  is  almost 
unendurable,  but,  however,  some  of  the  scenes  in  which  he 
is  an  actor  are  strikingly  portrayed ;  for  instance,  the  ter 
rible  scene  in  the  House  of  Lords,  where  he  is  made  to 
endure  the  scorn  of  his  brother  peers. 

We  give  the  following  description  of  a  storm  at  sea  as  a 


VICTOR  HUGO.  29 

specimen  of  the  author's  wild  extravagance  and  quaint  and 
ridiculous  illustrations  : 

"  Where  the  ocean  was  free  from  foam  it  had  a  sticky  appearance. 
The  waves,  losing  their  sharp  edges  in  the  twilight,  looked  like 
puddles  of  gall.  Here  and  there  a  flattened  billow  showed  cracks 
and  stars  like  a  window  at  which  stones  had  been  thrown.  At  the 
centre  of  these  stars,  in  eddying  apertures,  trembled  a  phosphores 
cence  which  recalled  the  cat-like  after-gleam  of  departed  life  in  a 
screech-owl's  eyes." 

The  denouement  of  this  novel  is  fully  in  keeping  with 
the  style  in  which  it  is  written.  Josiane  is  never  heard  of 
after  the  memorable  interview  with  Gwynplaine,  in  which 
she  threw  herself  with  the  bound  of  a  panther  upon  his 
neck,  and  told  him  in  words  which  came  out  "  pell-mell, 
like  an  eruption,"  that  "  she  idolised  him  because  she 
disdained  him,"  that  "she  loved  him  because  he  was 
grotesque,  hideous,"  and  "  that  he  was  exquisite  because  he 
was  infamous." 

Dea  dies  from  excess  of  joy  at  the  return  of  her  lover, 
and  Gwynplaine  puts  an  end  to  his  miserable  existence  by 
drowning  himself. 

The  absurdity  of  this  novel  we  think  destroys  the  very 
interest  it  was  intended  to  create.  The  author  speaks  of 
writing  two  other  books  of  the  same  character,  to  be 
entitled  "  Monarchy "  and  "  Ninety-three."  We  hope, 
however,  that  he  will  abandon  the  idea.  His  genius  is 
fitted  for  something  better. 


MARMONTEL'S  BELISARIUS. 

MARMONTEL'S  Belisarius  was  written  in  1777.  As  a 
literary  production,  it  ranks  far  below  Les  Contes  Moraux 
and  Les  LX.CIS.  The  author  claims  to  have  relied  wholly 
upon  the  faith  of  history  for  the  material  of  his  work.  He 
quotes  extensively  in  the  introductory  chapter  from  the 
writings  of  Procopius,  and  cites,  we  think,  some  very  excel 
lent  reasons  for  not  attributing  to  that  historian  a  work 
entitled  "  Anecdotes  of  Secret  History."  Gibbon,  Lebeau, 
and  Guizot  regard  the  book  as  genuine,  though  it  is  said 
that  it  does  not  conform  with  the  author's  style  and  diction, 
and  that  it  was  not  even  attributed  to  him  until  500  years 
after  his  death.  Agathias,  and  other  contemporary  histo 
rians,  enumerate  his  works  without  mentioning  it.  This 
work  is  full  of  the  most  disgusting  accounts  of  court 
intrigues  and  scandals.  It  contains  a  number  of  stories 
about  BELISARIUS'  relations  almost  as  ridiculous  and  impro 
bable  as  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe's  revelations  of  Lord  Byron. 

It  is  a  matter  of  regret  that  so  little  is  known  in  regard 
to  the  last  days  of  BELISARIUS.  Gibbon,  in  the  Decline  and 
Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  devotes  considerable  space  to 
the  military  achievements  of  this  great  warrior,  but  for 
some  unaccountable  reason  passes  hurriedly  over  many 
important  events  which  took  place  towards  the  close  of 
his  life.  Had  Gibbon  examined  these  events  with  his 
accustomed  care  and  fidelity,  much  light  doubtless  would 


MARMONTEDS  BELISARIUS.  3! 

have  been  thrown  upon  this  interesting  period  of  Roman 
history.  Lord  Mahon  attempted  to  repair  the  deficiency, 
but  his  genius  and  scholarship  were  inadequate  to  the 
task,  although  he  devoted  much  energy  and  research  to  it. 
He  examined  minutely  the  writings  of  Crinitus,  Volaterra- 
nus,  Pontanus,  Marcellinus,  and  Ignatius,  to  say  nothing 
of  those  of  Procopius,  Thucydides,  Agathias,  and  Livy. 
He  also  brought  forward  information  from  a  work  hitherto 
unpublished,  the  four  books  descriptive  of  the  city  of  Con 
stantinople  inserted  in  Bandun's  Imperium  Orientate,  for 
the  purpose  of  settling  the  vexed  question  of  BELISARIUS' 
blindness  and  mendicity.  Milman,  however,  in  his  notes 
on  Gibbon,  refuses  to  credit  the  testimony,  and  says  that  all 
accounts  of  BELISARIUS'  blunders  are  fabled  and  entitled  to 
no  earthly  consideration. 

BELISARIUS  was  born  on  the  confines  of  Thrace  and  Illyria 
about  500  years  after  Christ.  In  early  youth  he  was  dis 
tinguished  as  a  warrior,  and  when  only  25  years  of  age  he 
was  named  Governor  of  Dara.  A  few  years  later  he  was 
chosen  general  of  the  Roman  forces  in  the  East.  In  531 
he  won  the  famous  battle  of  Callinicum.  In  533  he  under 
took  an  expedition  into  Africa.  It  was  crowned  with  the 
most  brilliant  success.  He  besieged  the  heroic  Gelimer  on 
the  mountain  of  Papua.  The  Vandal  chief  made  a  deter 
mined  resistance.  He  was  reduced  to  sufferings  and  hard 
ships  of  indescribable  horror.  His  army  was  compelled  to 
subsist  in  the  midst  of  winter  on  the  coarsest  oaten  cakes 
baked  in  ashes.  The  half-starved  soldiers  were  even  ready 
to  devour  their  women  and  children.  In  the  midst  of  this 
terrible  distress  the  Vandal  monarch  displayed  the  loftiest 
courage  and  fortitude.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  the 
most  luxurious  pleasures,  and  the  recollection  of  them,  as 
may  readily  be  imagined,  only  served  to  heighten  his  suffer 
ings.  In  a  letter  to  Pharas  (the  besieging  commander), 


3  2  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

imploring  mercy,  he  exclaims,  "  I  have  been  suddenly  cast 
from  the  throne  into  the  abyss  of  misery.  Justinian  is  a 
man  and  an  emperor:  does  he  not  fear  for  himself  a  similar 
reverse  of  fortune  ?  Send  me,  I  pray  you,  to  solace  my 
sorrows,  a  lyre,  a  sponge,  and  a  loaf  of  bread."  The 
request  was  granted,  but  the  besieging  army  only  redoubled 
its  vigilance,  and  the  unfortunate  king  was  compelled  to 
capitulate.  He  was  led  in  triumph  to  Constantinople  in 
company  with  his  wife  and  children,  and  a  long  train  of 
Vandal  nobles.  The  capital  had  never  witnessed  before 
such  a  magnificent  procession.  As  the  triumphal  car 
moved  from  the  palace  of  BELISARIUS  toward  the  gates  of 
the  Hippodrome,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  populace  exceeded 
all  bounds.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  wealth  of  the  African 
continent  was  displayed.  Jewelled  thrones,  glittering 
armor,  costly  vases  and  statues,  and  the  magnificent  chari 
ots  which  had  been  used  by  the  Vandal  kings,  composed 
part  of  the  conqueror's  procession.  Gelimer,  with  dejected 
countenance,  advanced  slowly  on  foot,  clothed  in  a  robe  of 
purple  and  gold.  He  maintained  the  utmost  dignity  of 
demeanor.  Not  a  tear  glistened  in  his  eye,  nor  a  single 
sigh  was  heaved  from  his  manly  breast.  He  is  said  to 
have  derived  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  repeating  the  words 
of  Solomon,  "  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity." 

BELISARIUS  nobly  refused  to  ride  in  the  triumphal  car, 
but  walked  modestly  by  the  side  of  his  brave  comrades. 
As  the  procession  approached  the  throne  on  which  were 
seated  the  Emperor  and  Empress,  the  victorious  general 
and  captive  hero  were  compelled  to  prostrate  themselves 
on  the  ground  and  kiss  the  roval  footstool. 

o  ./ 

BELISARIUS  was  now  made  the  First  Consul  of  the 
Empire,  but  Justinian  soon  became  jealous  of  him,  and 
waited  only  for  a  pretext  to  accomplish  his  ruin.  In  542 
he  sequestered  his  estates  and  degraded  him  from  the 
rank  of  a  General. 


MARMONTEUS  BELISARIUS.  33 

His  crime  seems  to  have  been  simply  the  expression 
of  an  opinion  that  the  Emperor's  nearest  kinsman  should 
succeed  to  the  throne  instead  of  Theodora. 

As  BELISARIUS  entered  the  city  of  Constantinople  with 
his  small  and  squalid  retinue,  the  ungrateful  people  re 
ceived  him  with  insults  and  scoffings.  He  was  made  a 
prisoner  in  his  own  palace,  and  expected  every  moment 
either  to  fall  by  the  hands  of  an  assassin  or  to  receive  from 
the  Emperor  a  sentence  of  death.  At  this  time  the  Empire 
was  threatened  with  invasion,  and  BELISARIUS  was  rein 
stated  in  his  command. 

His  victories  were  more  brilliant  than  ever ;  but  they 
excited  the  bitterest  jealousy  at  the  Imperial  Court,  and  he 
was  again  recalled  and  disgraced.  His  last  victory  was 
won  at  Ghettos,  in  559,  against  the  Bulgarians.  In  563  he 
was  accused  of  being  engaged  in  a  conspiracy  with  Mar- 
cellus  Sergius  and  others  to  murder  the  Emperor.  Justin 
ian  was  weak  enough  to  believe  the  accusation,  and  ordered 
him  under  arrest. 

Here  Gibbon  and  other  historians  leave  us  in  doubt  as 
to  the  real  facts  of  BELISARIUS'  fate.  It  is  said  that  the 
Emperor  on  account  of  BELISARIUS'  past  services,  spared  his 
life;  but  in  accordance  with  an  existing  custom  at  the 
Byzantine  Court,  decreed  that  his  eyes  should  be  put  out, 
and  deprived  him  of  all  means  of  support  by  confiscating 
his  property.  There  is  a  tradition  that  he  was  reduced  to 
beg  his  bread  from  door  to  door,  and  that  he  held  forth  a 
platter  of  wood  or  earthenware  for  charity,  with  the  plea, 
"Give  a  penny  to  the  old  soldier  —  to  poor  and  blind 
Belisarius." 

One  of  the  most  singular  things  in  Marmontel's  ro 
mance,  is  the  view  he  has  taken  of  Justinian.  He  says 
that  the  Emperor  was  a  wise  and  virtuous  man,  and  raised 
himself  by  his  valor  from  the  lowest  station  in  the  army  to 

2* 


34 


STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TORE. 


the  Imperial  throne.  He  also  represents  him  as  having 
done  everything  in  his  power  to  atone  for  the  ruin  he 
inflicted  upon  BELISARIUS  in  decreeing  his  eyes  to  be  put 
out. 

This  position  is  entirely  inconsistent  with  the  character 
of  one  who,  according  to  Gibbon  and  other  historians,  was 
an  upstart  monarch,  who  scarcely  ever  unsheathed  his 
sword,  and  who  shared  his  crown  with  a  public  prostitute, 
the  vilest  of  her  sex. 

MarmonteFs  romance  contains  some  very  fine  passages, 
but  upon  the  whole  it  is  dull  and  tedious.  He  represents 
BELISARIUS  as  conversing  most  eloquently  upon  such  sub 
jects  as  moral  and  ethical  philosophy,  the  science  of  govern 
ment,  and  the  art  of  war ;  but  many  of  the  specimens  he 
gives  are  full  of  weak  and  wishy washy  sentiments. 

We  have  endeavored  to  translate,  as  literally  as  possible, 
what  we  regard  as  the  finest  chapter  in  the  book. 

BELISARIUS  directed  his  steps  toward  an  old  castle  in 
ruins,  where  his  family  expected  him.  He  was  compelled 
to  beg  alms  as  he  went.  His  dignified  bearing  and  lofty 
expression  of  countenance  could  not  do  otherwise  than 
attract  the  attention  of  the  beholders,  but  he  warned  his 
guide  not  to  reveal  his  name  upon  the  route.  In  passing 
through  a  village  he  stopped  in  the  evening  at  the  door  of 
a  neat  but  plain-looking  house.  The  owner  of  the  dwell 
ing  was  just  returning  home  with  a  spade  in  his  hand. 
He  was  struck  with  the  noble  appearance  of  BELISARIUS, 
and  asked  him  who  he  was.  The  latter  replied,  "  I  am  a 
poor  old  soldier."  "A  soldier!"  exclaimed  the  villager; 
"  and  is  this  your  reward  ? "  "  It  is  the  misfortune  of  a 
sovereign,"  said  BELISARIUS,  "  not  to  be  able  to  reward  all 
those  who  have  fought  in  his  service." 

This  reply  touched  the  heart  of  the  villager,  and  he 
begged  him  to  accept  his  hospitality.  "  I  introduce  to 


MARMONTEVS  BELISARIUS. 


35 


you,"  said  the  master  of  the  house  to  his  wife,  "  a  brave 
soldier,  who  supports  courageously  the  severest  trials  of 
affliction."  He  then  addressed  BELISARIUS,  saying,  "  Be  not 
ashamed  of  your  condition,  for  we  too  have  experienced 
misfortune.  I  pray  you  be  seated  while  supper  is  being 
prepared,  and  tell  me  in  what  wars  you  have  served."  "  In 
the  wars  of  Italy,"  said  BELISARIUS,  "  against  the  Goths,  and 
in  those  of  Asia,  against  the  Persians,  and  in  those  of 
Africa,  against  the  Vandals  and  the  Moors."  At  these  last 
words  the  villager  was  not  able  to  suppress  a  deep  sigh. 
He  said,  "You  have,  then,  made  all  the  campaigns  with 
BELISARIUS,  who  exhibited  ever  the  utmost  purity  of  heart 
and  grandeur  of  intellect.  In  my  retirement  I  have  not 
heard  from  him  for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  I  hope  he  is 
still  living,  and  that  Heaven  will  bless  and  prolong  his 
days." 

BELISARIUS  answered,  "  He  is  still  living  ;  but  if  he  could 
hear  you  he  would  be  deeply  moved  at  your  kind  wishes." 
"  Then,"  said  the  villager,  "  how  is  he  at  court?  All  power 
ful,  adored  by  every  one  ? "  "  Alas  ! "  replied  his  guest, 
"  do  you  not  know  that  envy  ever  attaches  itself  to  great 
ness  ?  "  "  Very  true  ;  but  the  Emperor  should  be  upon  his 
guard  in  listening  to  the  enemies  of  so  great  a  man.  He 
was  the  tutelar  genius  and  the  protector  of  the  Empire. 
He  is  very  old,  but  no  matter  j  he  would  still  be  as  great 
in  the  council  as  he  was  in  the  field." 

BELISARIUS  was  now  convinced  that  his  host  was  some 
officer  whom  he  had  rewarded  while  in  the  army.  During 
supper  the  latter  was  inquisitive  about  the  wars  in  Italy 
and  in  the  East,  but  did  not  refer  to  those  of  Africa. 
"  Let  us  drink,"  said  the  host,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
repast,  "  to  the  health  of  your  General.  May  Heaven  not 
be  unkind  to  him  for  the  evil  he  inflicted  upon  me." 
"  How  did  he  ever  injure  you  ? "  said  BELISARIUS.  "  He  dis- 


36  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

charged  his  duty ;  I  do  not  complain ;  I  have  learned  how 
to  bear  up  under  adversity.  Since  you  have  served  in  the 
African  wars,  you  have  doubtless  seen  the  King  of  the  Van 
dals,  the  unfortunate  Gelimer,  with  his  captive  wife  and 
children,  led  in  triumph  by  BELISARIUS  to  Constantinople, 
I  must  tell  you  that  I  am  Gelimer,  the  unfortunate  King  of 
the  Vandals."  "Are  you,  then,  indeed,  Gelimer?"  said 
BELISARIUS.  "  Is  it  possible  that  the  Emperor  has  made  your 
lot  so  humble  ? "  "  The  Emperor  offered  me  honors,  and 
I  refused  them.  When  one  has  been  a  king,  and  ceases  to 
be  a  king,  he  has  no  recompense  save  in  repose  and 
obscurity.  Yes,  I  was  besieged  upon  the  mountain  of 
Papua.  There  I  suffered  hardships  unheard  of.  In  the 
midst  of  the  severest  winter  I  felt  the  pangs  of  hunger,  and 
beheld  the  awful  spectacle  of  a  nation  driven  to  despair 
and  ready  to  devour  their  women  and  children.  The  vigi 
lance  of  the  brave  Pharas  was  unremitting,  but  he  did 
everything  to  direct  my  attention  to  the  miserable  condition 
of  my  people.  This,  together  with  the  confidence  I  had 
in  the  integrity  of  your  General,  led  me  to  lay  down  my 
arms. 

"  BELISARIUS  received  me  with  the  greatest  dignity. 
Every  attention  was  paid  to  me.  He  did  everything  he 
could  to  console  me  in  my  affliction.  I  have  passed  six 
lusters  in  retirement,  but  each  and  every  day  I  have 
offered  up  a  fervent  prayer  for  BELISARIUS.  Before  the  sur 
render  I  had  lived  the  most  voluptuous  of  kings.  I  was 
nursed  as  it  were  in  the  lap  of  pleasure.  Suddenly  I  passed 
from  my  palace  to  the  cavern  of  the  Moors,  slept  upon 
straw,  and  lived  upon  barley  coarsely  pounded  and  half 
washed  upon  cinders.  Nay,  to  such  hardships  was  I 
reduced  that  a  loaf  of  bread  sent  to  me  by  the  enemy  was 
a  present  inestimable.  I  was  loaded  with  chains,  and  com 
pelled  to  walk  in  the  conqueror's  triumph.  After  under- 


MARMONTEVS  BELISARIUS. 


37 


going  such  affliction  the  heart  must  either  break  with  grief 
or  rise  superior  to  it." 

BELISARIUS  replied,  "  You  have  in  the  composure  of  your 
soul  many  resources  against  calamity,  and  I  promise  before 
we  part  to  give  you  a  further  consolation." 

Early  the  next  morning  Gelimer  found  his  guest  with 
stick  in  hand  ready  to  set  out  upon  his  journey.  He  begged 
him  to  pass  a  few  days  longer  with  him.  BELISARIUS 
replied,  "  I  have  a  wife  and  daughter  inconsolable  during 
my  absence.  Farewell  !  but  hear  unmoved  what  I  have  to 
reveal  —  BELISARIUS,  though  old  and  blind,  will  never  forget 
the  reception  you  have  given  him." 

"  Merciful  Heaven  !  "  exclaimed  Gelimer  ;  "  BELISARIUS 
blind,  and  in  his  old  age  abandoned  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  my  enemies,  before  they  reduced  me  to  poverty, 
put  out  my  eyes." 

"Oh,  just  Heaven  !  who  were  the  monsters?  " 

"  The  envious"  said  BELISARIUS.  "  They  accused  me  of 
aspiring  to  the  throne,  when  I  thought  only  of  the  grave. 
They  had  the  power  to  ruin  me.  I  was  placed  in  irons, 
but  the  people  clamored  for  my  deliverance.  It  was  im 
possible  to  resist  them  ;  but,  in  restoring  me  to  'liberty,  I 
was  deprived  of  my  sight ;  and  Justinian  ordered  it.  It  was 
that  that  most  pained  me.  You  know  with  what  zeal,  with 
what  love,  and  with  what  fidelity  I  served  him.  Even  now 
I  feel  no  anger  toward  him,  and  I  deeply  regret  that  he  is 
surrounded  by  wicked  men  to  darken  the  evening  of  his 
days.  When  I  heard  that  he  had  pronounced  the  fatal  sen 
tence,  I  must  confess  that  my  constancy  failed  me.  My 
executioner  melted  into  pity  and  fell  prostrate  at  my  .feet. 
Thanks  be  to  Heaven !  it  is  over  now,  and  I  have  but  a 
little  while  to  be  blind  and  poor." 

Gelimer  now  asked  BELISARIUS  to  pass  the  remainder  of 
his  life  with  him. 


-8  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

o 

BELISARIUS  replied  :  "  It  would  indeed  be  consoling,  but  I 
owe  a  duty  to  my  wife  and  children,  and  I  go  to  die  in 
their  arms." 

Gelimer  embraced  him  with  tears.  He  at  last  parted 
from  him  with  the  utmost  difficulty ;  but  watched  him  with 
longing  eyes,  and  exclaimed,  "  O  prosperity  !  O  prosperity  ! 
who  can  confide  in  thee  ?  " 


VATHEK. 

THIS  celebrated  Oriental  story  was  written  at  one  sitting, 
in  French,  by  Sir  WILLIAM  BECKFORD,  of  Fonthill,  England, 
when  about  eighteen  years  of  age. 

It  abounds  in  scenes  of  surpassing  beauty  and  magnifi 
cence.  Its  splendor  of  description,  varied  liveliness  of 
humor,  gorgeous  richness,  of  fancy,  and  wild  and  super 
natural  interest,  are  perhaps  unequaled  in  the  whole  range 
of  fictitious  literature.  It  seems  as  if  all  the  sweets  of 
Asia  are  poured  out  upon  it.  It  is  full  of  glittering  palaces, 
and  temples  and  towers,  of  jewelled  halls,  tables  of  agate 
and  cabinets  of  ebony  and  pearl ;  of  crystal  fountains, 
radiant  columns,  and  arcades  and  perfumes  burning  in 
censers  of  gold. 

Lord  Byron  says,  that  "  even  Rasselas  must  bow  before 
it,  and  the  Happy  Valley  will  not  bear  a  comparison  with 
the  Hall  of  Eblis." 

It  is  pervaded  by  an  awful  spirit  of  mockery  and  deri 
sion,  which  contrasts  strangely  with  the  author's  reflections 
at  the  conclusion  of  the  story. 

The  history  of  the  author's  life  is  scarcely  less  wonderful 
than  his  book.  He  was  the  son  of  Sir  William  Beckford, 
a  prominent  English  statesman  in  the  time  of  George  III. 
The  elder  Beckford  distinguished  himself  by  a  speech 


40  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

addressed  to  the  King,  in  which  he  dared  to  upbraid  his 
counsellors,  and  to  denounce  them  as  enemies  to  the  con 
stitution  and  laws  of  the  country.  The  city  of  London 
erected  a  statue  to  his  memory,  with  the  speech  engraved 
upon  the  pedestal. 

The  fortune  he  left  his  son  was  of  the  largest  in  Eng 
land.  His  income  was  more  than  half  a  million  dollars 
per  annum.  Young  BECKFORD  early  displayed  talents  of 
the  highest  order.  His  education  was  conducted  by  some 
of  the  most  eminent  men  of  the  nation.  The  Earl  of 
Chatham  and  Lord  Camden  directed  his  studies  in  litera 
ture  and  philosophy,  and  Mozart  instructed  him  in  the 
science  of  music.  He  was  not  only  versed  in  the  classics, 
but  was  enabled  to  speak  and  write  in  nearly  all -the  living 
languages  of  the  earth,  including  the  Persian  and  the 
Arabic.  He  endeavored  to  make  himself  familiar  with 
every  branch  of  science.  He  studied  not  only  the  natural, 
but  the  supernatural,  the  possible  and  the  fantastical.  He 
wrote,  when  but  seventeen  years  of  age,  "The  Memoirs  of 
Extraordinary  Painters,"  a  work  in  which  the  richest 
humor  and  the  keenest  powers  of  sarcasm  are  displayed. 
He  is  also  author  of  a  brilliant  series  of  letters  entitled, 
"  Italy,  with  Sketches  of  Spain  and  Portugal,"  and  a  work 
called  "  Recollections  of  an  Excursion  to  the  Monasteries 
of  Alcobaca  and  Batalha." 

In  1794  he  removed  to  Portugal  and  constructed  a  mag 
nificent  palace  at  Cintra,  which  was  allowed  to  go  to 
destruction  on  his  return  to  England.  It  suggested  the 
following  reflections  in  Childe  Harold : 

"There,  thou  too,  Vathek  !  England's  wealthiest  son, 
Once  formed  thy  paradise,  as  not  aware, 
When  wanton  wealth  her  mightiest  deeds  hath  done, 
Meek  peace  voluptuous  lures  was  ever  wont  to  shun  ; 
Here  didst  thou  dwell,  here  schemes  of  pleasure  plan, 
Beneath  yon  mountain's  ever  beauteous  brow. 


VATHEK.  41 

But  now,  as  if  a  thing  unblest  by  man, 

Thy  fairy  dwelling  is  as  lone  as  thou  ; 

Here  giant  weeds  a  passage  scarce  allow, 

To  halls  deserted,  portals  gaping  wide  ; 

Fresh  lessons  to  the  thinking  bosom,  how 

Vain  are  the  pleasurances  on  earth  supplied, 

Swept  into  wrecks  anon  by  Time's  ungentle  tide." 

He  seemed  to  live  only  to  "realise  the  dreams  and 
fictions  of  his  fancy."  He  had  as  great  a  passion  for  build 
ing  palaces  and  towers  as  VATHEK  himself.  It  is  said  that 
he  embodied  in  his  residence  at  Fonthill  much  of  the 
splendor  of  the  Hall  of  Eblis.  The  magnificent  mansion 
erected  by  his  father  at  a  cost  of  nearly  a  million  dollars 
failed  to  satisfy  his  fastidious  taste.  He  had  it  pulled 
down,  and  built  upon  its  ruins  a  palace  famed  throughout 
the  world  for  its  architectural  beauty  and  costly  magnifi 
cence.  This  wondrous  structure  seemed  to  spring  into 
existence  as  if  by  enchantment.  He  employed  four  hun 
dred  and  sixty  men  to  work  upon  it  by  day  and  night.  It 
is  said  that  at  one  time  every  cart  and  wagon  in  the  district 
were  pressed  into  service,  and  that  even  the  royal  works  of 
St.  George's  Chapel,  Windsor,  were  abandoned  in  order  to 
supply  carpenters  and  masons  to  work  upon  it.  The  top 
of  the  building  was  inclosed  in  immense  sweeps  of  plate 
glass.  The  central  tower  was  two  hundred  and  sixty-seven 
feet  in  height.  It  was  indeed  a  palace  of  pleasure.  Its 
decorations  seemed  to  surpass  the  wildest  dreams  of 
Oriental  splendor.  The  building  was  pushed  forward  with 
such  rapidity  that  the  foundation  became  insecure,  and 
during  a  gust  of  wind  the  main  tower  fell  to  the  earth. 

Mr.  BECKFORD  was  gifted  with  the  most  extraordinary 
vision.  He  gazed  upon  the  sun  with  the  eye  of  an  eagle. 
He  observed  from  a  distance  of  forty  miles,  while  on  au  em 
inence  at  Bath,  that  his  tower  had  disappeared,  and  made 
known  the  fact  to  his  friends  before  the  news  of  its  destruc 
tion  arrived  from  Fonthill. 


42  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  7  URE. 

He  then  erected  another  palatial  tower,  which,  if  possible, 
surpassed  the  former  in  beauty  and  magnificence.  Its 
furniture  beggared  description.  The  spacious  saloons 
were  crowded  with  the  rarest  treasures  of  art.  He  had 
three  hundred  and  sixty  different  sets  of  tableware,  one  for 
each  day  during  the  year,  of  the  costliest  material. 

He  lived  in  this  fairy  dwelling  in  the  utmost  seclusion. 
It  was  seldom  that  any  one  ever  beheld  the  splendors  of 
his  home.  On  one  occasion  the  Duchess  of  Norfolk 
visited  him.  She  was  entertained  for  a  week  with  the 
most  varied  and  splendid  generosity,  but  the  owner  of  the 
mansion  kept  himself  savagely  inaccessible. 

At  one  time  he  had  a  hideous  and  an  emasculated 
Oriental  dwarf  attached  to  his  person,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  Asiatic  princes.  This  eccentricity,  together  with  his 
boundless  wealth  and  secluded  life,  occasioned  the  igno 
rant  and  superstitious  to  believe  that  he  was  leagued  with 
the  devil  and  possessed  the  secrets  of  alchemy. 

Vathek  was  first  published  in  1786.  It  was  followed 
shortly  afterward  by  an  English  translation,  now  included 
in  Bonn's  Standard  Library.  It  has  never  been  repub- 
lished  in  this  country.  A  brief  outline  of  the  plot  cannot 
fail  to  be  of  interest  to  the  reader. 

VATHEK  was  the  ninth  Caliph  of  the  race  of  the  Abas- 
sides.  He  surpassed  in  magnificence  all  his  predecessors. 
His  dominions  extended  from  Africa  to  India.  His 
personal  appearance  was  the  very  embodiment  of  majesty 
and  dignity,  but,  when  angry,  one  of  his  eyes  became  so 
terrible  that  no  one  could  behold  it  and  live.  He  was 
addicted  to  every  pleasure  and  every  vice.  He  was  skilled 
in  the  occult  sciences.  He  consulted  the  stars  and  pene 
trated  into  the  profoundest  mysteries  of  the  soul.  His 
palace  commanded  the  whole  city  of  Samarah,  but  it  was 
too  meagre  to  satisfy  his  vanity,  and  he  erected  five  other 


VA  THEK. 


43 


palaces,  designed  for  the  gratification  of  each  of  the  senses. 
The  first  was  called  the  Eternal  or  the  Unsatiating  Banquet. 
Here  the  most  delicious  wines  and  cordials  flowed  from  a 
hundred  inexhaustible  fountains.  The  second  palace  was 
styled  the  Temple  of  Melody  or  the  Nectar  of  the  Soul. 
It  was  frequented  by  the  most  distinguished  poets  and 
musicians  of  the  land,  who  caused  even  "  the  surrounding 
scenery  to  reverberate  with  song."  The  third  palace  was 
termed  the  Delight  of  the  Eyes  or  the  Support  of  Mem 
ory.  In  it  was  collected  everything  that  could  pos 
sibly  tend  to  dazzle  and  bewilder  the  senses.  "  Here 
a  well-managed  perspective  attracted  the  sight,  there 
the  magic  of  optics  agreeably  deceived  it,  whilst  the 
naturalist  on  his  part  exhibited  in  their  several  classes 
the  various  gifts  that  Heaven  had  bestowed  on  our 
globe."  The  two  remaining  palaces  were  called  the  Palace 
of  Perfumes  and  the  Retreat  of  Mirth.  The  latter  was 
ever  graced  with  "  troops  of  young  females  as  beautiful  as 
the  Houris  and  not  less  seducing." 

VATHEK'S  subjects,  notwithstanding  his  excesses,  wished 
for  him  a  long  and  happy  reign.  His  pride  reached  its 
height  and  wickedness  ran  riot  in  him.  He  sullied  himself 
with  a  thousand  crimes.  The  Prophet  Mahomet  beheld 
his  conduct  with  indignation,  and  resolved  to  leave  him  to 
his  fate,  and  to  see  where  his  folly  and  impiety  would  lead 
him. 

VATHEK  determined  to  construct  a  tower,  not  in  imi 
tation  of  Nimrod,  but  for  the  purpose  of  penetrating  the 
secrets  of  heaven.  He  fancied  that  even  insensible 
matter  showed  a  forwardness  to  subserve  his  designs,  for 
when  a  cubit  was  raised  in  a  day  two  cubits  would  be 
added  at  night. 

It  is  said  that  when  he  ascended  for  the  first  time  the 
fifteen  hundred  stairs  of  his  tower,  and  looked  down  upon 


44 


STUDIES  IN  LITERA  TURE. 


men  no  larger  than  pismires,  and  mountains  than  shells, 
and  cities  than  bee-hives,  he  would  have  adored  himself 
had  he  not  looked  upward  and  saw  that  the  stars  were  as 
far  above  him  as  they  appeared  when  he  stood  on  the  sur 
face  of  the  earth.  He  soon  became  the  prey  of  a  malig 
nant  giaour  who  promised  him  the  diadem  of  Gian  Ben 
Gian,  the  talismans  of  Solomon,  and  the  treasures  of 
the  pre- Adamite  kings. 

His  mother,  Carathis,  the  most  perfect  incarnation  of 
crime,  fired  his  ambition  to  this  end.  Under  the  guidance 
of  the  giaour,  he  started  to  seek  the  treasures.  "  He 
trod  upon  the  cloth  of  gold  spread  for  his  feet,  and 
ascended  his  litter  amidst  the  general  acclamations  of  his 
subjects."  His  expedition  was  interrupted  by  portentous 
omens,  such  as  darkness,  fire,  and  tempest,  and  became 
lost  in  the  mountains.  He  was  met  by  two  dwarfs  who 
conducted  him  to  the  delightful  retreat  of  the  good  Emir 
Fakreddin,  in  the  midst  of  a  valley  of  fruits,  melons  and 
flowers.  Here  he  met  the  young  and  lovely  Nouronihar, 
and  persuaded  her  to  accompany  him  to  the  palace  of  fire, 
and  to  share  with  him  the  honor  and  glory  of  his  crown. 

At  last  they  beheld  the  darkened  summits  of  Istakar. 
A  benificent  spirit  in  the  form  of  a  shepherd  appeared, 
and  warned  them  that  beyond  the  mountains,  Eblis  and 
his  accursed  Dives  held  their  infernal  fire.  The  spirit 
informed  VATHEK  that  but  one  moment  of  grace  was 
allowed  him,  that  when  the  sun  passed  from  behind  a 
cloud,  if  his  heart  was  not  changed  he  would  be  lost 
forever. 

The  Caliph  scorned  the  advice  and  exclaimed,  "  Let  the 
sun  appear.  Let  him  illumine  my  career.  It  matters  not 
where  it  may  end."  Nouronihar  importuned  him  to  hasten 
his  march,  and  lavished  on  him  a  thousand  caresses  to 
beguile  reflection. 


V  A  THE  1C.  45 

The  ruins  of  Istakar  were  revealed  to  them,  and  they 
proudly  entered  its  gloomy  watch-towers. 

After  passing  through  a  labyrinth  of  horrors  interspersed 
with  flitting  visions  of  delight,  they  beheld  an  immense 
hall  in  which  "  a  vast  multitude  was  incessantly  passing, 
who  severally  kept  their  right  hands  on  their  hearts,  with 
out  once  regarding  any  one  around  them.  They  had  all 
the  livid  paleness  of  death.  Their  eyes  deep  sunk  in 
their  sockets,  resembled  those  phosphoric  meteors  that 
glimmer  by  night  in  places  of  interment.  Some  stalked 
slowly  on,  absorbed  in  profound  reverie,  some  shrieking 
with  agony  ran  furiously  about  like  tigers  wounded  with 
poisoned  arrows,  whilst  others  grinding  their  teeth  in  rage, 
foamed  along  more  frantic  than  the  wildest  maniac. 
They  all  avoided  each  other,  and  though  surrounded  by  a 
multitude  which  no  one  could  number,  each  wandered  at 
random  unheedful  of  the  rest,  as  if  alone  on  a  desert 
where  no  foot  had  trodden." 

VATHEK  and  Nouronihar,  though  frozen  with  terror  at  this 
sight,  moved  on  until  they  reached  the  throne  of  Soliman. 
As  the  mighty  potentate  raised  his  hand  to  heaven  in 
token  of  supplication,  they  discerned  through  his  bosom, 
which  was  "transparent  as  crystal,  his  heart  enveloped  in 
flames. 

VATHEK  and  his  companions  were  informed  that  a  like 
fate  awaited  them,  and  "  their  hearts  immediately  took  fire, 
and  they  at  once  lost  the  most  precious  gift  of  Heaven  — 
Hope." 

This  scene  belongs  to  the  highest  order  of  intellectual 
poetry.  There  is  nothing  in  Dante  or  Milton  that  sur 
passes  it  in  grandeur,  power  and  sublimity. 

Mr.  BECKFORD  lived  to  the  advanced  age  of  84.  His 
intellect  remained  unclouded  to  the  last.  His  fame  as  an 


46  STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE. 

author,  however,  rests  principally  upon  his  earlier  pro 
ductions.  His  letters  in  which  he  gives  an  account  of  his 
travels,  were  not  published  until  fifty  years  after  they  were 
written.  He  employed  the  last  years  of  his  life  in  collect 
ing  treasures  for  his  residence  at  Bath,  where  he  united  two 
houses  in  London  Crescent  by  an  arch  thrown  from  one 
street  to  another,  in  which  he  placed  his  library,  which  was 
one  of  the  best  selected  and  most  extensive  in  England. 


THE  TEMPEST. 

SHAKSPEARE  was  indebted  solely  to  the  inspiration  of  his 
genius  for  the  material  of  this  exquisite  creation.  His 
critics  and  commentators  have  wholly  failed  to  trace  the 
origin  of  the  plot  to  any  other  source.  The  poet  Collins, 
however,  claimed  that  it  was  founded  upon  a  romance  en 
titled  "  Amelia  and  Isabella,"  printed  in  the  Italian,  Spanish, 
French,  and  English,  in  1588.  There  is  nothing,  however, 
in  "  Amelia  and  Isabella,"  not  even  the  faintest  outline,  to 
warrant  such  a  conclusion.  Warton,  in  commenting  upon 
the  above,  says  that  Collins  had  searched  the  subject  with 
no  less  fidelity  than  judgment  and  industry ;  but  during  a 
moment  of  mental  aberration  probably  gave  the  name  of 
one  novel  for  another.  Warton  also  expresses  the  opinion 
that  the  original  novel  will  yet  be  discovered,  inasmuch  as 
Collins  mentions  that  the  principal  character  of  the  romance 
answering  to  Shakspeare's  Prospero  was  a  chemical  necro 
mancer,  who  had  bound  a  spirit  like  Ariel  to  obey  his  call 
and  perform  his  services. 

Tieck  earnestly  maintains  that  the  TEMPEST  was  taken 
from  an  Italian  drama,  of  which  a  German  version  is  pre 
served  in  Ayer's  play  entitled  Die  Schone  Sidea  (the  Beau- 
ful  Sidea).  His  arguments  are  based  principally  upon 
some  striking  points  of  resemblance  between  the  two  plays ; 
but  as  the  earlier  drama  is  not  known  to  exist,  it  is  proba 
ble  that  the  Beautiful  Sidea  is  only  an  adaptation  or  imita 
tion  of  the  TEMPEST. 


48  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

SHAKSPEARE'S  reference  to  "  the  still  vex'd  Bermoothes  " 
has  given  rise  to  the  opinion  that  the  scene  of  the  drama 
was  laid  in  the  Bermudas. 

Sir  George  Somers,  who  was  wrecked  upon  one  of  these 
isles,  published  an  account  of  his  voyage  about  three  years 
before  the  play  was  written,  in  which  he  gave  a  glowing 
description  of  this  land  of  enchantment,  of  groves  of  coral, 
of  perpetual  blossoms  and  ever  verdant  bowers.  The  poet 
doubtless  had  read  the  account  of  this  voyage,  and  had  had 
the  Bermudas  in  his  mind's  eye ;  but  Ariel's  flight  from  "  a 
nook  of  the  isle  "  to  "  fetch  dew  "  from  "  the  still  vex'd 
Bermoothes,"  is,  we  think,  a  convincing  proof  that  the  isles 
were  some  distance  from  the  scene  of  the  drama. 

The  TEMPEST  has  often  been  compared  with  the  "  Mid 
summer-Night's  Dream."  The  contrast  between  the  real 
and  the  ideal,  the  natural  and  the  supernatural,  in  both  of 
these  dramas,  is  unquestionably  carried  to  a  greater  extent 
than  in  any  other  of  the  author's  productions.  The  two  plays, 
however,  are  too  widely  dissimilar  to  admit  of  any  general 
comparison.  The  "  Midsummer-Night's  Dream  "  is  perhaps 
adorned  with  the  fairest  flowers  of  poetry,  and  the  most 
exquisite  and  delicate  word-paintings,  and  the  most  varied 
and  complicated  confusions  of  beauties ;  but  the  TEMPEST 
possesses  a  greater  unity  of  effect,  and  a  greater  combina 
tion  of  thought  and  interest,  and  a  more  harmonious  blend 
ing  of  opposite  elements. 

It  also  possesses  more  depth  of  feeling,  affection  and 
sentiment,  and  a  more  refined  and  contemplative  philo 
sophy.  The  TEMPEST  is  generally  regarded  as  the  finest 
play,  and  the  "  Midsummer-Night's  Dream  "  as  the  finest 
poem. 

In  the  character  of  Ariel  we  have  a  beautiful  exhibition 
of  the  poet's  power  for  giving  form  and  distinctness  to 
winged  and  immortal  beings.  Ariel  is  called  "  the  feature- 


THE  TEMPEST.  49 

less  angel."  He  hurries  to  and  fro  with  the  swiftness  of 
thought,  and  drinks  the  air  before  him.  We  have  scarcely 
time  to  look  at  him  in  one  shape  before  we  see  him  in 
another.  He  is  as  frolicsome  and  mischievous  as  he  is 
bright  and  ethereal.  He  does  all  his  spiriting  gently,  and 
is  too  delicate  to  act  earthly,  and  abhors  commands.  It 
matters  not  how  he  presents  himself  to  our  fancy,  either  as 
a  water-nymph  or  a  harpy,  or  "  sleeping  in  a  cowslip's  bell," 
or  "  imprisoned  in  a  cloven  pine,"  or  "diving  into  the  fire" 
or  "  into  the  salt  sea,"  or  "riding  upon  the  curled  clouds," 
or  "  living  in  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,"  or  "running  upon 
the  sharp  wind  of  the  north,"  or  "  flying  upon  the  bat's 
back,  after  summer  merrily,"  or  "  refusing  to  do  his  master's 
strong  bidding,"  he  seems  ever  the  same  self-consistent 
being,  kindling  thoughts  to  wander  throughout  eternity. 

We  confess  our  inability  to  analyse  the  character  of 
Caliban.  He  is  something  infrahuman,  a  mixture  of  man, 
brute,  and  devil,  and  yet  in  no  way  presents  the  distinctive 
elements  of  either.  Monster  as  he  is,  he  is  sensible  to 
kindness,  and  endeavors  to  show  his  gratitude  as  best  his 
savage  nature  will  allow  him.  He  says  to  Prospero : 

"When  thou  cam'st  here  first 

Thou  strok'dst  me  and  made  much  of  me  j  wouldst  give  me 
Water  with  berries  in't,  and  teach  me  how 
To  name  the  bigger  light,  and  how  the  less 
That  burn  by  day  and  night,  and  then  I  lov'd  thee, 
And  show'd  thee  all  the  qualities  o'  the  isle, 
The  fresh  springs,  brine  pits,  barren  places  and  fertile." 

His  mind  has  been  compared  to  a  dark  cave  through 
which  the  rays  of  light  serve  not  to  warm  or  illumine,  but 
to  set  in  motion  the  poisonous  vapors  that  generate  in  it. 

His  malignity  is  easily  aroused,  and  when  it  is  he  cares 
only  for  the  use  of  language  to  vent  the  deepest  curses. 

Prospero  moves  through  the  diverse  elements  of  the 
3 


50  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  JURE. 

TEMPEST  with  unequaled  power  and  beauty  and  wisdom. 
His  high  charms  work  only  for  the  noblest  and  most  praise 
worthy  ends. 

SHAKSPEARE  has  chosen  him  to  utter  two  of  the  finest 
passages  of  poetry  in  the  drama.  It  is  almost  unnecessary 
to  say  that  we  mean  the  description  of  the  disappearance 
of  the  vision  he  has  conjured  up,  and  the  speech  where  he 
abjures  his  art  and  proposes  to  break  his  staff  and  bury  it 
"  fathoms  in  the  earth,"  and  drown  his  book 

"Deeper  than  did  ever  plummet  sound." 

The  former  is  so  full  of  poetic  splendor  that  we  cannot 
resist  reproducing  it  here  : 

"  Our  revels  now  are  ended.     These,  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air ; 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve, 
And,  like  this  unsubstantial  pageant,  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.     We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep." 

Miranda  is  the  most  purely  ideal  of  all  SHAKSPEARE'S 
women.  She  seems  to  belong  to  a  higher  order  of  beings 
than  of  this  earth.  All  the  aerial  splendor  and  magical 
mystery  of  her  father's  isle  seem  to  be  interwoven  in  her 
nature,  and  yet  she  is  as  distinct  and  palpable  a  creation 
as  if  she  actually  existed  in  real  life.  She  has  no  acquired 
or  artificial  manners,  and  is  totally  ignorant  of  the  false 
notions  of  society  that  teach  us  to  flatter  and  dissemble. 
Modesty,  and  truth,  and  honor,  and  purity,  and  virtue,  and 
nnocence,  are  her  dower,  She  never  saw  one  of  her  own 
sex,  and  has  grown  up  with  no  companions  save  her  father, 


THE  TEMPEST.  5! 

and  the  ministering  spirits  of  the  air  and  the  rocks  and 
trees  and  caves  and  dells  and  brooks  and  fountains  of  her 
fairy  home.  Her  heart  swells  with  filial  affection  and  all 
the  attending  virtues  of  holy  innocence.  She  is  a  celestial 
being,  breathing  thoughtful  breath.  She  sees  everything 
through  her  own  hallowed  imagination.  Even  Caliban  is 
to  her  simply  "  a  villain  she  does  not  love  to  look  on." 
No  wonder  Ferdinand  approaches  her  as  something  above 
the  earth  earthy,  as  "a  goddess  upon  whom  the  airs 
attend." 

The  courtship  between  her  and  Ferdinand  is  managed 
with  exquisite  grace  and  delicacy. 

"  At  the  first  sight 
They  have  changed  eyes." 

We  cannot  imagine  anything  more  beautiful  than  the 
following  extracts  from  the  third  act : 

FER. — "  Full  many  a  lady 

I  have  ey'd  with  best  regard;  and  many  a  time 
The  harmony  of  their  tongues  hath  into  bondage 
Brought  my  too  diligent  ear.     For  several  virtues 
Have  I  lik'd  several  women  ;  never  any 
With  so  full  soul,  but  some  defect  in  her 
Did  quarrel  with  the  noblest  grace  she  ow'd 
And  put  it  to  the  foil :  But  you,  O,  you 
So  perfect  and  so  peerless,  are  created 
Of  every  creature's  best." 
****  *### 

"  Wherefore  weep  you  ?  " 

MIRA. — "  Atrmine  own  unworthiness,  that  dare  not  offer 
What  I  desire  to  give,  and  much  less  take 
What  I  shall  die  to  want :     But  this  is  trifling ; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself, 
The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.     Hence,  bashful  cunning, 
And  prompt  me  plain  and  holy  innocence  ! 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me ; 
If  not,  I'll  die  your  maid.    To  be  your  fellow, 
You  may  deny  me  ;  but  I'll  be  your  servant, 
Whether  you  will  or  no." 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

HAWTHORNE  is,  we  think,  the  ablestwriter  of  pure  fiction 
in  the  language.  There  is  nothing  commonplace  about 
him.  Unlike  most  novelists,  he  deals  less  with  accidental 
manifestations  than  with  universal  principles.  His  charac 
ters  are  not  mere  shadowy  abstractions,  but  "veritable 
human  souls,  though  dwelling  in  a  far-off  world  of  cloud- 
land."  He  is  a  purist  in  style,  and  is  at  all  times  as  scru 
pulously  exact  in  his  choice  of  words  as  if  he  were  writing 
a  complete  and  perfect  poem.  All  his  works,  from  his 
earliest  productions,  the  "  Twice  Told  Tales,"  to  his  later 
efforts,  the  "  Marble  Faun  "  and  "  Our  Old  Home,"  bear 
upon  them  the  ineffaceable  stamp  of  genius,  and  ever 
awaken  idea^  of  beauty,  of  solemnity,  and  of  grandeur. 
The  SCARLET  LETTER  is  perhaps  his  greatest  creation. 

There  is  a  suggestiveness  and  an  originality  about  it  for 
which  we  may  search  in  vain  for  a  parallel  outside  of  the 
writings  of  Shakspeare.  In  it  he  penetrates  into  the 
recesses  of  the  heart,  and  touches  the  secret  springs  of 
our  inmost  passions  and  desires.  It  is  a  deep,  a  strange, 
a  profound  and  an  awful  tragedy,  in  which  the  severest 
and  most  appalling  sufferings  known  to  man  are  not  only 
depicted  with  wonderful  naturalness  and  intensity,  but  laid 
bare  as  it  were  to  the  gaze  even  of  persons  of  the  dullest 
and  most  unimaginative  sensibilities.  Hawthorne  is  said 
to  have  derived  his  first  conception  of  this  story  from 


THE  SCARLE  T  LE  TTER.  5  3 

reading  a  sentence  written  upon  an  old  yellow  parchment, 
accidentally  found  among  some  rubbish  in  the  Custom 
house  at  Boston,  decreeing  that  a  woman  convicted  of 
adultery  should  stand  upon  the  platform  of  a  pillory  in 
front  of  the  market-place  with  the  letter  "  A h  written  on 
her  breast.  A  friend  who  saw  him  read  it  remarked  to  a 
gentleman  standing  near:  "We  shall  hear,  I  am  sure, 
of  the  letter  (  A '  again."  HAWTHORNE,  in  the  introduc 
tory  chapter  to  the  romance,  not  only  relates  the  story  of 
reading  the  sentence,  but  says  that  he  actually  found  a 
piece  of  fine  red  cloth,  much  worn  and  faded  by  time  and 
wear,  in  the  shape  of  the  letter  "  A,"  and  that  he  involun 
tarily  put  it  upon  his  breast,  and  seemed  to  experience  a 
sensation  of  burning  heat,  as  if  the  letter  were  not  of 
scarlet  cloth  but  of  red-hot  iron,  and  that  he  shuddered 
and  let  it  fall  upon  the  floor.  He  added  that  it  was  the 
subject  of  meditation  for  many  an  hour  while  pacing  to 
and  fro  across  his  room,  or  traversing  with  a  hundred-fold 
repetition  the  long  extent  from  the  front  door  of  the 
Custom-house  to  the  side  entrance  and  back  again.  He 
felt  there  was  a  mystic  and  a  terrible  meaning  in  it  most 
worthy  of  interpretation. 

The  interpretation  he  gave  will  endure  forever.  He 
has  portrayed,  as  no  one  else  could  portray,  the  reli 
gious  faith  of  the  Puritans.  In  depicting  it  in  all  its 
hideous  deformity,  he  does  not  exaggerate  anything  or 
conceal  anything.  Its  victim,  Hester  Prynne,  whether 
whether  or  not  a  true  type  of  her  class,  must  forever  be 
associated  with  the  intolerance,  narrow  prejudices  and  vin 
dictive  feelings  of  the  bigoted  sect  who  thought  themselves 
especially  chosen  by  Heaven  to  punish  the  guilty  with  the 
most  damnable  instruments  of  torture.  The  author,  in 
discoursing  upon  the  hard  and  unyielding  severity  of  their 
laws,  never  allows  his  indignation  to  overmaster  his 


54 


STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 


judgment  In  the  very  whirlwind  of  passion  he  begets  a 
temperance  which  gives  it  smoothness.  It  has  been  urged 
as  an  objectionable  feature  in  his  writings  that  he  does  not 
solve  moral  and  psychological  problems,  "  but  exhibits 
their  bearings  and  workings  in  concrete  and  living 
forms,  for  experiment  and  illustration."  Now  this  is 
exactly  what  we  most  admire  in  him.  It  is  a  part  of 
the  peculiarity  of  genius  not  to  be  decisive,  to  raise 
questions  rather  than  to  settle  them.  HAWTHORNE 
seems  to  care  more  for  giving  his  readers  an  opportu 
nity  of  discovering  truth  themselves  than  to  point  it  out 
to  them.  But  sometimes,  we  admit,  he  abuses  this  power ; 
for  instance,  when  he  refuses  to  tell  us  in  the  "  Marble 
Faun  "  whether  Donatello  has  pointed  and  furry  ears  or  not, 
or  where  he  excites  our  curiosity  by  concealing  the  cause 
of  the  influence  of  the  ill-omened  Capuchin  over  the  cour 
ageous  and  noble-hearted  Miriam;  or  in  the  following 
comparison  of  hatred  and  love  in  the  SCARLET  LETTER  : 
"It  is  a  curious  subject  of  observation  and  inquiry  whether 
hatred  or  love  be  not  the  same  thing  at  bottom.  Each 
in  its  utmost  development  supposes  a  high  degree  of  inti 
macy  and  heart-knowledge;  each  renders  one  individual 
dependent  for  the  food  of  his  affections  and  spiritual  life 
upon  another ;  each  leaves  the  passionate  lover,  or  the  no 
less  passionate  hater,  forlorn  and  desolate  by  the  withdrawal 
of  his  subject.  Philosophically  considered,  therefore,  the 
two  passions  seem  essentially  the  same,  except  that  one 
happens  to  be  seen  in  a  celestial  radiance,  and  the  other  in 
a  dusky  and  lurid  glow." 

There  is  something  about  HAWTHORNE'S  children  that 
affects  us  with  singular  love  and  admiration.  They  are 
not  prodigies,  like  Paul  Dombey  and  Elinor  Trench,  but 
have  all  the  natural  bloom,  freshness  and  simplicity  of 
childhood.  They  are  imbued  with  a  spell  of  infinite 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


55 


variety.  They  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  love  and  beauty, 
of  enchanting  hopes  and  dreams.  We  feel  that  theirs  is 
the  only  flowery  path,  the  golden  period  of  existence,  the 
unclouded  dawn  of  life.  We  do  not  find  anything  incon 
sistent  even  in  the  conduct  of  little  Pearl,  one  of  the  most 
shadowy,  ethereal  and  mystical  of  all  his  creations,  when 
we  recollect  that  "she  seemed  the  unpremeditated  offshoot 
of  a  passionate  moment,". and  that  "the  child's  nature  had 
something  wrong  in  it,  which  continually  betokened  that 
she  had  been  born  amiss,  the  effluence  of  her  mother's 
lawless  passion  ;"  indeed,  we  except  the  terrible  scene  at 
the  brook  side,  where  she  refused  to  come  to  her  mother, 
though  called  in  accents  of  honeyed  sweetness,  until  she 
placed  the  scarlet  letter  upon  her  breast,  but  stood  motion 
less,  pointing  with  her  finger  where  she  was  accustomed 
to  see  it.  The  author,  however,  endeavors  to  reconcile 
her  conduct  in  the  following : ' "  Children  will  not  abide 
any,  the  slightest  change  in  the  accustomed  aspect  of 
things  that  are  daily  before  their  eyes.  Pearl  misses 
something  which  she  has  always  seen  me  wear." 

We  know  of  nothing  in  the  whole  range  of  literature 
that  equals  the  sufferings  of  the  mother  when  she  again 
fastens  the  letter  on  her  breast,  feeling  that  she  must  bear 
the  torture  a  while  longer.  "  Hopefully  but  a  moment 
ago  as  Hester  had  spoken  of  drowning  it  in  the  deep  sea, 
there  was  a  sense  of  inevitable  doom  upon  her  as  she  thus 
received  back  this  deadly  symbol  from  the  hand  of  fate. 
She  had  flung  it  into  infinite  space !  She  had  drawn  an 
hour's  free  breath !  and  here  again  was  the  scarlet  misery 
glittering  on  the  old  spot !  So  it  ever  is,  whether  thus 
typified  or  not,  that  an  evil  deed  invests  itself  with  the 
character  of  doom." 

We  have  a  hint  at  the  conclusion  of  this  mystical 
romance  that  little  Pearl  grew  to  womanhood,  and  that  her 


56  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

wild,  rich  nature  had  been  softened  and  subdued,  and 
made  capable  of  the  gentlest  happiness.  The  description 
of  Hester's  repentance  is  so  full  of  divine  philosophy  that 
no  one  can  rise  from  its  perusal  without  a  purer  and  deeper 
sympathy  for  the  failings  of  humanity. 

"But  there  was  more  real  life  for  Hester  Prynne,  here  in 
New  England,  than  in  that  unknown  region  where  Pearl 
had  found  a  home.  Here  had  been  her  sin  ;  here,  her  sor 
row  j  and  here  was  yet  to  be  her  penitence.  She  had 
returned,  therefore,  and  resumed,  of  her  own  free  will, 
for  not  the  sternest  magistrate  of  that  iron  period  would 
have  imposed  it  —  resumed  the  symbol  of  which  we  have 
related  so  dark  a  tale.  Never  afterwards  did  it  quit  her 
bosom.  But,  in  the  lapse  of  the  toilsome,  thoughtful,  and 
self-devoted  years  that  made  up  Hester's  life,  the  scarlet 
letter  ceased  to  be  a  stigma  which  attracted  the  world's 
scorn  and  bitterness,  and  became  a  type  of  something  to 
be  sorrowed  over,  and  looked  upon  with  awe,  yet  with 
reverence  too.  And  as  Hester  Prynne  had  no  selfish  ends, 
nor  lived  in  any  measure  for  her  own  profit  and  enjoy 
ment,  people  brought  all  their  sorrows  and  perplexities,  and 
besought  her  counsel,  as  one  who  had  herself  gone  through 
a  mighty  trouble.  Woman,  more  especially, —  in  the  con 
tinually  recurring  trials  of  wounded,  wasted,  wronged, 
misplaced,  or  erring  and  sinful  passion, —  or  with  the 
dreary  burden  of  a  heart  unyielded,  because  unvalued 
and  unsought, —  came  to  Hester's  cottage,  demanding  why 
they  were  so  wretched,  and  what  the  remedy!  Hester 
comforted  and  counseled  them,  as  best  she  might.  She 
assured  them,  too,  of  her  firm  belief,  that,  at  some  brighter 
period,  when  the  world  should  have  grown  ripe  for  it,  in 
Heaven's  own  time,  a  new  truth  would  be  revealed,  in  order 
to  establish  the  whole  relation  between  man  and  woman  on 
a  surer  ground  of  mutual  happiness.  Earlier  in  life, 


THE  SCA  RLE  T  LE  TTER.  5  7 

Hester  had  vainly  imagined  that  she  herself  might  be  the 
destined  prophetess,  but  had  long  since  recognised  the 
impossibility  that  any  mission  of  divine  and  mysterious 
truth  should  be  confided  to  a  woman  stained  with  sin, 
bowed  down  with  shame,  or  even  burdened  with  a  life-long 
sorrow.  The  angel  and  apostle  of  the  coming  revelation 
must  be  a  woman,  indeed,  but  lofty,  pure,  and  beautiful ; 
and  wise,  moreover,  not  through  dusky  grief,  but  the  ethe 
real  medium  [of  joy  ;  and  showing  how  sacred  love  should 
make  us  happy,  by  the  truest  test  of  a  life  successful  to 
such  an  end." 

We  regret  that  we  cannot  now  give  further  extracts  from 
this  romance,  illustrative  of  the  author's  delicate  sentiment 
and  mystical  imagination,  as  well  as  of  his  suggestiveness 
and  originality.  He  has  the  purest  and  loftiest  ideas  of  love 
and  virtue.  Unlike  Thackeray,  he  never  indulges  in  petty 
and  contemptible  sneers  at  women,  nor  dwells  with  exqui 
site  delight  upon  their  timorous  debasement  and  self-humil 
iation.  He  does  not  stop  to  prove  that  "  they  are  born 
timid  and  tyrants,"  and  are  terrified  into  humility,  and 
bullied  and  frightened  into  devotion. 


EDWIN  BOOTH'S  MACBETH. 

IT  has  been  said  that  many  gifts  and  accomplishments 
must  meet  in  him  who  would  be  a  commentator  upon 
Shakspeare  j  that  in  this  case,  to  know  something  of  every 
thing,  but  everything  of  something,  is  necessary  for 
success. 

But  great  as  are  the  attributes  required  of  a  commenta 
tor,  incomparably  greater  must  be  the  gifts  of  the  actor  of 
Shakspeare.  He  must  be  a  being  who  can  rise  superior  to 
time  and  place,  for  the  thoughts  and  passions. he  is  to 
express  and  delineate  belong  not  only  to  the  past  and  the 
present,  but  to  the  future.  His  mind  must  be  capable  of 
comprehending  the  arts  and  sciences.  He  must  be  versed 
not  only  in  history,  but  in  the  philosophy  of  history.  He 
must  be  a  student  of  nature  and  a  judge  of  nature,  and, 
above  all,  of  character.  He  must  possess  the  quality  of 
identifying  himself  with  the  being  he  is  to  personate.  He 
must  be  his  own  teacher,  for  if  he  stoops  to  imitation  he 
degrades  his  art.  Hence  it  is  that  our  greatest  actors  have 
been  the  greatest  innovators  on  the  customs  and  manners 
of  others.  The  innovations  of  Garrick  on  the  style  of 
acting  adopted  by  Quin  and  Betterton,  were  such  as  for  a 
time  to  make  him  very  unpopular.  Kemble  attempted  to 
set  up  a  school  of  his  own,  and  in  some  respects  succeeded. 
Both  Garrick  and  Kemble  were  men  of  fine  scholastic 
attainments,  but  the  former,  in  spite  of  his  many  excel- 


ED  WIN  BOOTHS  MA  CBE  TIL 


59 


lences,  represented  MACBETH  as  a  blustering  and  cowardly 
tyrant,  who  thought  only  of  blood  and  murder,  as  a  being 
wholly  destitute  of  any  redeeming  traits  whatever. 

Byron  was  accustomed  to  say  that  of  actors  Cooke  was 
the  most  natural,  Kemble  the  most  supernatural,  and  Kean 
the  medium  between  the  two,  and  that  Mrs.  Siddons  was 
worth  them  all  put  together.  He  did  not,  however,  record 
any  opinion  of  Junius  Brutus  Booth,  who  combined  excel 
lences  that  did  not  belong  to  any  of  the  above-named. 
But,  to  judge  from  contemporaneous  criticism,  and  the 
traditions  of  the  stage,  EDWIN  BOOTH,  the  son  of  Junius 
Brutus,  has  surpassed  in  the  power  and  brilliancy  of  his 
genius  all  the  great  actors  who  have  gone  before  him.  He 
seems  to  have  taken  the  lovers  of  the  drama,  as  it  were,  by 
storm.  He  has  brought  to  bear  upon  his  profession  the 
rarest  personal  gifts  and  the  most  superior  mental  accom 
plishments.  He  has  revealed  beauties  in  Shakspeare  that 
were  undreamed  of  before.  He  has  thrust  aside  old  stage 
tricks  and  customs.  He  has  shown  us  the  folly  of  set 
speeches  and  pompous  intonations.  He  has  completely 
charmed  us  with  the  varied  witchery  of  his  powers.  He 
has  aspired  to  the  universal  in  the  realms  of  art  and 
knowledge,  and  success  has  crowned  his  efforts.  We  can 
account  very  readily  for  his  success  in  some  of  his  characters, 
for  instance,  in  Hamlet,  for  the  character  is  not  wholly  unlike 
his  own.  His  handsome  person,  elegant  graces  and  quiet 
dignity,  combined  with  his  wealth  of  voice,  are  eminently 
fitted  for  the  sublimest  representations  of  this  great  concep 
tion  of  Shakspeare. 

The  mournful  words, 

"  I  have  of  late,  but  wherefore  I  know  not, 

Lost  all  my  mirth,  foregone  all  customs  of  exercises," 

seem  to  bespeak  his  own  sentiments  and  passions.     The 


6o  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

same  thing  can  be  said  of  the  soliloquy  on  suicide,  whilst 
the  friendship  of  Rosencranz  and  Guildenstern,  the  deferred 
but  deeply-seated  revenge,  the  wild  love  for  Ophelia  and  the 
philosophical  meditations  at  her  grave,  the  chivalric  bearing 
towards  Laertes,  the  speech, 

"  If  it  be  now,  'tis  not  to  come  ;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it  will  be  now ; 
if  it  be  not  come  yet,  it  will  come.  The  readiness  is  all,  since  no  man 
of  aught  knows  what  is't  to  leave  betimes.  Let  be," — 

And  all  Hamlet's  thoughts,  speeches,  words  and  actions 
are  anything  else  but  foreign  to  the  proud  and  sensitive 
and  philosophical  and  poetical  nature  of  EDWIN  BOOTH. 

But  by  what  wondrous  power  doth  he  transform  himself 
into  the  bloody  Thane  of  Cavvdor,  and  fearlessly  visit  the 
blasted  heath,  invoke  the  magic  spell  of  the  weird  sisters, 
look  on  death  itself,  and  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder  ?  The 
question  must  remain  unanswered.  It  is  inexplicable.  We 
only  know  that  it  is  the  exclusive  gift  and  prerogative  of 
genius. 

BOOTH  studied  the  character  of  MACBETH  thoroughly 
and  completely  before  he  attempted  to  portray  it.  His 
Hamlet,  we  believe,  has  been  slowly  perfected  by  study, 
time  and  thought ;  but  there  has  been  no  improvement  in 
his  MACBETH  since  his  appearance  in  the  character,  nor 
can  there  be  any,  for  he  mastered  it  from  the  beginning. 
If  he  does  not  play  it  as  well  at  one  time  as  at  another,  it 
is  from  sheer  lack  of  physical  force.  He  seizes  at  once 
upon  the  imagination,  and  holds  us  spell-bound  until  the 
end  of  the  drama,  and  we  cannot  break  the  spell  if  we 
would. 

His  appearance  upon  the  stage,  heralded  by  distant 
strains  of  martial  music,  and  the  exclamation  of  the  weird 
sisters, 

"  A  drum  !  a  drum !  MACBETH  doth  come  ! " 

presents   a  picture   of  the   grandest   magnificence.      We 


ED  WIN  BOO  TII'S  MA  CBE  TIL  6 1 

realise  the  approach  of  all  the  splendid  pageantry  of  war 
and  the  glory  of  a  conqueror.  He  is  proudly  followed  by 
his  victorious  army,  that  beat  back  "  Norway  himself  with 
terrible  numbers."  He  surveys  majestically  their  burnished 
shields,  waving  banners  and  glittering  spears.  His  brow 
is  flushed  with  triumph,  and  every  look  and  movement 
bespeaks  the  conqueror,  whose  brandished  sword  but  an 
hour  before  smoked  with  bloody  execution. 
The  warlike  cry  — 

"Command  !  they  halt  upon  the  heath  !" 

is  distinctly  heard.  The  pictured  representation  of  that 
dreary  moorland  consecrated  to  infernal  orgies,  with  not  a 
tree  or  shrub  to  relieve  the  desolation,  where  murky  fogs 
are  ever  settling  upon  pestilential  pools,  becomes  a  reality. 
How  strangely  sound  the  foreboding  words, 

"  So  fair  and  foul  a  day  I  have  not  seen  ! " 

How  prophetic  of  the  coming  evil,  of  the  workings  of  the 
powers  of  darkness,  of  the  weird  sisters,  the  wild  and 
secret  midnight  hags,  who  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  the 
ear  and  break  it  to  the  hope  !  Only  those  who  have  seen 
BOOTH'S  MACBETH  can  form  the  least  idea  of  the  expres 
sion  of  his  countenance  on  beholding  the  weird  sisters. 
There  is  something  about  it  that  affects  us  with  mingled 
admiration  and  awe.  When  these  foul  anomalies  greet 
hifn  as  "Thane  of  Glamis,"  "Thane  of  Cawdor,"  and  as 
"  All  hail  Macbeth,  that  shall  be  King  hereafter,"  we  feel 
that  he  is  indeed  under  the  influence  of  superhuman 
beings,  who  are  to  control  his  destiny  and  urge  him  on  to 
his  fate.  He  seems  to  believe  all  their  predictions  possi 
ble.  He  does  not  listen,  like  Banquo,  passively,  neither 
begging  nor  fearing,  but  his  whole  being  is  moved.  He  is 
lost  in  thought ;  wrapped  withal.  When  they  are  about  to 
quit  his  sight,  we  hear  with  strange  emotion  the  speech  : 


62  STUDIES  I  A7  LITER  A  TURE. 

"  Stay,  you  imperfect  speakers,  tell  me  more. 
By  Sinel's  death,  I  know  I  am  Thane  of  Glamis  ; 
But  how  of  Cawdor  ?    The  Thane  of  Cawdor  lives, 
A  prosperous  gentleman  ;  and  to  be  King 
Stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief, 
No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.     Say  from  whence 
You  owe  this  strange  intelligence  ?  or  why 
Upon  this  blasted  heath  you  stop  our  way 
With  such  prophetic  greetings  ?    Speak,  I  charge  you." 

But  in  order  to  appreciate  fully  his  acting,  we  must 
follow  MACBETH  to  the  palace  at  Forres,  where  the  things 
that  did  sound  so  fair  have  been  partially  realised,  where 
the  King  of  Scotland  named  him  Thane  of  Cawdor,  and 

"  Two  truths  are  told, 
As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  Imperial  theme," 

and  behold  him  break  the  intelligence  to  his  wife  of  Dun 
can's  promise  to  visit  him  at  the  castle  of  Inverness,  that 
pleasant  seat  where  heaven's  breath  smells  wooingly,  and 
where  no  jutty  frieze,  buttress,  or  coigne  of  vantage  can 
heighten  the  mansion's  beauty,  for  the  temple-haunting 
martlets  have  there  made  their  pendant  beds  and  pro- 
creant  cradles,  but  where  the  direst  cruelty  makes  thick 
the  blood,  and  stops  up  the  access  and  passage  to  re 
morse. 

BOOTH,  in  this  scene  with  LADY  MACBETH,  makes  us 
deeply  sensible  of  all  the  hidden  virtues  of  the  character. 
The  murder  is  resolved  upon,  but  we  read  in  his  counte 
nance  waywardness  and  hesitancy.     We  know  intuitively 
that  he  does  not  consent  willingly  to  the  unnatural  deed, 
that   he   is   full   of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  of  the 
noblest  sentiments  and  feelings,  that  he  wishes  to  be  great, 
but  holily,  and  that  which  he  fears  to  do  he  would  wisl 
undone.      Although   his   thoughts   are   upon   the   golde 
round,  he  cannot  look  like  the  innocent  flower  and  be  0 


EDWIN  BOOTHS  MACBETH.  63 

serpent  under  it.  He  has  won  golden  opinions  from  all 
sorts  of  people,  and  he  feels  that  they  should  be  worn  in 
their  newest  gloss.  The  King  hath  honored  him  of  late, 
and  now  visits  him  in  a  double  trust. 

As  a  host  and  subject  he  feels  that  he  should  shut  the 
door  against  the  murderer,  and  not  bear  the  knife  him 
self. 

We  cannot  describe  the  varied  expressions  of  BOOTH'S 
countenance  when  attempting  to  beat  back  the  wicked 
impulses  of  LADY  MACBETH,  or  his  lofty  bearing  towards 
her  when  overcome  by  her  reasoning,  he  says : 

"  Bring  forth  men-children  only, 
For  thy  undaunted  metal  should  compose 
Nothing  but  males." 

To  have  witnessed  him  in  the  scene  previous  to  the 
murder  of  Duncan,  forms,  we  think,  an  epoch  in  one's 
existence.  In  it  he  seems  to  surpass  himself.  If  he  is 
great  in  any  other  part  of  the  play,  he  is  almost  super 
human  in  this.  A  darkness  more  terrible  than  nature's 
pervades  the  chamber  through  which  he  moves  to  kill  the 
King.  He  does  his  utmost  to  dispel  the  supernatural 
vision,  but  cannot.  The  silence  is  dreadful.  It  is  too 
painful  to  be  borne.  Each  moment  seems  an  eternity. 
We  can  almost  hear  his  heart-throbs. 

When  the  shadows  proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed 
brain  are  dispelled,  he  indeed  moves  like  a  ghost,  with 
"  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides  towards  his  design."  But 
when  the  murder  is  committed,  and  he  shows  his  blood 
stained  hands  to  his  guilty  wife,  and  exclaims, 

"  This  is  a  sorry  sight !  " 

we  are  so  lost  in  the  character  that  we  do  not  think  once  of 
the  mighty  genius  that  is  portraying  the  mightiest  effort  of 
Shakspeare. 


64  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE, 

When  he  recites  the  following : 

"  Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  '  Sleep  no  more  ; 
Macbeth  doth  murder  sleep  ; '  the  innocent  sleep  ; 
Sleep,  that  knits  up  the  ravel'd  sleeve  of  care, 
The  death  of  each  day's  life,  sore  labor's  bath, 
Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature's  second  course, 
Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast ; 
Still  it  cried  sleep  no  more  to  all  the  house  ; 
Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep  ;  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more  ;  MACBETH  shall  sleep  no  more  " — 

we  feel  indeed  that  the  author's  genius  has  here  taken 
its  full  swing,  and  "  trod  upon  the  farthest  bounds  of  nature 
and  passion."  But  we  do  not  feel  all  the  terrible  despera 
tion  of  him  who  has  given  his  eternal  jewel  to  the  common 
enemy  of  man,  until  the  actor  calls  fate  into  the  list  to 
champion  him  to  the  very  utterance. 

What  an  infinite  variety  of  contrasts  he  reveals  to  us  in 
the  banquet  scene  !  Would  that  we  could  describe  his  im 
perial  look,  his  smooth  dissimulation  in  welcoming  the 
guests,  his  conciousness  of  murder,  and  his  unearthly  hor- 
•  ror  on  seeing  the  table  full  and  his  own  chair  occupied  by 
him  whose  presence  he  had  just  affected  to  desire. 

But  when  he  cries  out,  with  that  wonderful  and  passion 
ate  intonation  peculiarly  his  own, 

"  Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it !  never  shake 
Thy  gory  locks  at  me  ! 

Avaunt !  quit  my  sight !     Let  the  world  hide  thee  ! 
Thy  bones  are  marrowless  ;  thy  blood  is  cold  ; 
Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  the  eyes 
Which  thou  dost  glare  with," 

we  behold  the  sublimest  description  of  impassioned  terror. 
It  is  well  that  the  action  of  this  play  is  so  violent  and 
the  scenes  so  wonderfully  varied,  or  else  we  should  go 
mad  with  horror.  The  incidents  are  crowded  together 
in  rapid  succession,  and  each  rivals  the  other  in  magni- 


ED  WIN  BOO  TIPS  MA  CBE  TIL  6 5 

tude  and  power.  We  are  hurled  hither  and  thither  without 
guide  or  compass,  through  guilt  and  crime,  darkness  and 
despair.  We  are  swayed  to  and  fro  as  if  by  the  power  of 
fate.  The  central  figure  in  this  dense  mass  of  chaotic 
confusion  is  MACBETH  ;  around  him  every  other  interest 
must  bend  and  break.  He  resolved  to  seek  again  the 
weird  sisters,  and  to  know  the  worse  by  the  worst  means  ; 
and  with  him  we,  too,  long  for  their  presence,  for  even  the 
thoughts  of  their  vile  incantations,  the  grotesque  strange 
ness  of  their  charms  —  the  grave  from  a  murderer's  gibbet, 
the  finger  of  a  baby  strangled  in  its  birth,  the  fillet  of  a 
fenny  snake,  the  eye  of  newt  and  the  toe  of  frog,  the  gall 
of  a  goat  and  the  liver  of  a  Jew,  the  blood  of  a  baboon 
and  the  sweltering  venom  of  other  hideous  ingredients  — 
afford  us  a  brief  respite  from  the  sufferings  of  such  a  con 
science  as  BOOTH  lays  open  to  us. 

In  that  part  of  the  play  where  MACBETH  grows  more  and 
more  desperate,  battling  with  fate,  and  even  the  season  of  all 
nature's  calm  can  bring  no  rest  to  his  weary  soul,  it  is  indeed 
melancholy  in  the  extreme  to  behold  the  breathing  imper 
sonation  of  this  gallant  soldier,  this  wise  leader,  whose 
ambition  was  once  guided  and  restrained  by  an  instructed 
conscience,  subjected  to  such  vehement  and  tumultuous 
passions,  and  cut  off  from  all  hope  and  consolation,  save 
such  as  he  may  derive  from  the  double-meaning  promises 
of  the  juggling  fiends  who  are  urging  him  on  to  destruc 
tion.  The  suffering  of  Vathek  in  the  Hall  of  Eblis,  under 
the  cabalistic  influence  of  the  malignant  giaour,  forms 
scarcely  a  parallel.  When  there  is  nothing  left  for  MAC 
BETH  save  to  abandon  himself  wholly  to  the  power  of  the 
weird  sisters,  even  though  on  horror's  head  horrors  accumu 
late,  we  behold  in  the  impersonation  the  loftiest  energy  and 
courage.  He  proudly  descends  the  rugged  steps  that  lead 
to  the  gloomy  recesses  of  the  cave,  where  the  midnight 


66  STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE. 

hags  are  practising  their  incantations  around  a  filthily 
seething  cauldron.  When  he  summons  the  spirits  that 
know  all  mortal  consequence  to  answer  him  "  if  Banquo's 
issue  shall  ever  reign  in  the  kingdom,"  BOOTH'S  acting 
reaches  a  degree  of  sublimity  which  can  only  be  described 
as  something  above  nature.  When  the  shadows  of  eight 
kings  pass  before  him,  all  like  the  spirit  of  Banquo,  the 
prolonged  and  ringing  intonations  of  his  voice  will  be 
remembered  for  a  lifetime,  when  he  says : 

"  What !  will  the  line  stretch  out  to  the  crack  of  doom  ? 
Another  yet !     A  seventh  !     I'll  see  no  more  ! 
And  yet  the  eighth  appears,  who  bears  a  glass 
Which  shows  me  many  more,  and  some  I  see 
That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry. 
Horrible  sight!  —  Now  I  see  'tis  true, 
For  the  blood-boltered  Banquo  smiles  upon  me, 
And  points  at  them  for  his  !  " 

It  is  useless  to  multiply  instances  of  his  eloquent  and 
masterly  renditions  of  the  text.  What  we  most  admire  in 
him  is  that  he  makes  the  meaning  of  the  author  perfectly 
clear  to  us.  What  a  singular  anomaly  of  consistent  incon 
sistencies  he  reveals  in  the  character.  He  is  sensible  to 
pity,  and  is  cruel  and  treacherous ;  he  is  kind  and  generous, 
and  murders  innocence  and  virtue.  His  imagination  is 
lofty,  and  his  energy  is  equal  to  his  imagination,  and  his 
heroism  is  greater  than  both.  His  hatred  is  severe  beyond 
measure,  and  his  envy  is  intolerable  ;  but  his  love  of  glory 
is  unsurpassed,  and  ever  throws  a  resplendent  light  around 
his  vices  and  his  crimes.  All  his  purposes  are  broken  and 
disjointed.  Hope  alternates  with  despair,  and  there  is 
ever  an  appalling  and  a  desperate  struggle  for  the  mas 
tery. 

One  of  the  finest  scenes  in  the  play  is  where  the  death 
of  his  wife  is  announced. 


ED  WIN  BOOTITS  MA CBETIL  67 

The  recollection  of  her  delicate  and  unremitting  atten 
tion  to  his  conscience-stricken  soul,  the  complacency  with 
which  she  listened  to  his  tempestuous  wailings,  without  so 
much  as  the  faintest  murmur  of  her  own  sufferings,  crowd 
upon  him,  and  sicken  his  soul  to  the  last  faint  echoes  of 
moral  death.  He  mourns  her  loss  in  all  the  terrible  bitter 
ness  of  his  soul.  BOOTH'S  recitation  of  the  following  beg 
gars  description : 

"  She  should  have  died  hereafter ; 
There  would  have  been  a  time  for  such  a  word. 
To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  ; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.     Out,  out,  brief  candle, 
Life's  but  a  waking  shadow ;  a  poor  player, 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
And  then  is  heard  no  more  ;  it  is  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing  —  " 

We  know  full  well  that  LADY  MACBETH  is  not  "  a  mere 
female  fury,"  though  we  both  hate  and  fear  her.  She  has 
been  compared  to  Medea  and  to  Clytemnestra,  but  she  is 
^finitely  more  terrible  than  either  of  them,  because  she 
has  more  intellect,  more  passion  and  more  refinement. 
She  is  free  from  selfishness,  and  has  no  petty  vices,  no  low 
and  vulgar  passions,  no  indelicacy  or  gross  licentiousness 
of  character.  She  sacrificed  every  womanly  feeling  for 
the  aggrandisement  of  her  husband.  If  she  longed  for 
the  crown  and  sceptre,  it  was  only  that  she  might  share 
them  with  him  "to  give  all  their  days  and  nights  sole 
sovereign  sway  and  masterdom."  Great  as  was  her  crime, 
we  feel  that  others  have  been  more  debasing,  for,  judge  her 
as  we  may,  there  is  something  about  her  that  must  forever 
be  associated  with  her  sex  and  with  humanity. 


68  STUDIES  IN  LITERA  TURE. 

But  we  must  hurry  on  to  a  conclusion.  The  combat 
scene  is  indescribable. 

We  behold  indeed  an  awful  grandeur  in  the  conclusive 
throes  and  dying  agonies  of  "valor's  minion,"  of  him  who 
threw  before  his  body  his  warlike  shield,  and  would  try  the 
last,  though  "Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane,"  and 
being  opposed  by  "  none  of  woman  born." 

But  we  would  suppress  the  shouts  of  the  victorious 
Scots  over  the  fallen  hero,  for  fate  and  metaphysical  aid 
conspired  against  him. 


PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 

IT  is  almost  impossible  to  think  of  SHELLEY  without 
feelings  of  the  deepest  sorrow.  The  many  sad  incidents 
in  his  brief  life,  his  wild  and  restless  disposition,  his 
insane  ideas  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  his  sudden  and 
horrible  death,  crowd  upon  us  in  mournful  and  rapid  succes 
sion. 

He  was  born  on  the  4th  of  August,  1792,  at  his  father's 
residence,  known  as  Field  Place,  in  Sussex  county,  England. 

Through  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  facts  of  his 
birth,  he  has  been  represented  as  a  descendant  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney.  His  grandfather,  Sir  Bysshe  Shelley, 
married  (the  last  time)  Miss  Sidney  Perry,  who  was  a 
descendant  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  ;  but  the  poet's  father, 
Timothy  Shelley,  sprang  from  a  previous  marriage.  It  is 
useless,  however,  to  attempt  to  correct  the  error,  for,  like 
the  mythical  story  of  William  Tell  and  the  apple,  it  has 
passed  into  history.  And,  indeed,  it  seems  almost  a  pity 
to  spoil  the  fiction,  for  SHELLEY  resembled  Sidney  —  that 
"  chivalric  warbler  in  poetic  prose  " —  somewhat  in  personal 
appearance,  in  dignity  and  elegance  of  demeanor,  in  refine 
ment  and  cultivation  of  taste,  and  in  magnanimity  and 
nobleness  of  soul. 

At  the  age  of  thirteen,  SHELLEY  was  sent  to  Eton  to 
prepare  for  a  course  of  study  at  the  University  of  Oxford. 
At  Eton  he  made  much  progress  in  Latin  and  Greek,  but 


70  STUDIES  IN  LITERA  TUtfE. 

at  Oxford  he  neglected  the  regular  course  of  study  in  order 
to  gratify  his  taste  in  the  science  of  metaphysics. 

SHELLEY  at  this  time  had  begun  to  compose  in  both 
prose  and  verse,  and  with  some  assistance,  wrote  several 
romances;  but  it  was  his  misfortune  to  offend  the  dignity 
of  the  faculty  of  Oxford  by  writing  a  pamphlet  in  which 
he  endeavored  to  prove  the  non-existence  of  a  Deity.  For 
this  offence  he  was  very  foolishly  expelled.  The  vain  and 
weak  judges  attempted  to  justify  his  expulsion  on  the 
ground  that  it  was  in  conformity  with  a  statute  which  ex 
pressly  provided  that  the  presence  of  an  atheist  should  not 
be  tolerated  within  the  walls  of  the  University.  This 
statute  has,  however,  to  the  credit  of  this  celebrated  institu 
tion  of  learning,  been  repealed.  It  must  have  required 
the  height  of  stupidity  to  suppose  that  the  sublime  teach 
ings  of  the  Christian  religion,  glittering,  as  it  were,  with  all 
that  is  great  and  good  since  the  world  began,  could  be  en 
dangered  by  the  erratic  speculations  of  a  youth  scarcely 
eighteen  years  of  age. 

SHELLEY'S  expulsion  from  college  was  a  sad  disappoint 
ment  to  his  family.  They  believed  that  they  were  in  some 
measure  involved  in  his  disgrace.  His  father  refused  to 
allow  him  to  return  home  except  on  condition  of  his  re 
nunciation  of  his  religious  opinions.  This  he  indignantly 
refused  to  do.  He  went  to  London,  thoroughly  convinced 
that  he  was  a  martyr  to  the  most  oppressive  tyranny. 

While  in  London,  he  formed  the  acquaintance  of  Har 
riet  Westbrook,  a  lady  young  and  beautiful,  but  who  was 
beneath  him  in  rank  and  social  position,  being  the  daughter 
of  a  tavern-keeper.  Notwithstanding  the  most  vehement 
opposition,  he  married  her. 

In  1812  SHELLEY  went  to  Ireland.  He  immediately 
became  interested  in  the  cause  of  Irish  freedom.  He 
issued  an  address  to  the  people,  in  which  he  deprecated 


PERC  Y  B  YSSHE  SHELLE  Y.  y  ! 

the  prevalence  of  the  Catholic  religion.  He  said  that 
"  the  Inquisition  was  set  up,  and  in  the  course  of  one  year 
thirty  thousand  people  were  burnt  in  Spain  for  entertaining 
a  different  opinion  from  the  Pope  and  the  priests.  The 
bigoted  monks  of  France  massacred,  in  one  night,  eighty 
thousand  Protestants."  He  warned  the  people  of  Ireland 
to  take  care  that  while  one  tyranny  was  destroyed,  another 
be  not  allowed  to  spring  up.  He  told  them  to  think,  talk 
and  act  for  themselves,  and  to  be  free  and  happy,  but  first 
to  be  wise  and  good. 

SHELLEY  professed  to  have  little  respect  for  the  marriage 
relation.  In  a  letter  to  a  friend  he  says :  "  I  am  a  young 
man,  not  of  age,  and  have  been  married  for  a  year  to  a 
woman  younger  than  myself.  Love  seems  inclined  to  stay 
in  prison,  and  my  only  reason  for  putting  him  in  chains, 
whilst  convinced  of  the  unholiness  of  the  act,  was  a  know 
ledge  that,  in  the  present  state  of  society,  if  love  is  not 
thus  villainously  treated,  she  who  is  most  loved  will  be 
treated  worst  by  a  misjudging  world." 

His  marriage  proved  an  unhappy  one.  Domestic  discord 
ensued,  which  soon  ended  in  separation  and  divorce. 
Circumstances  ere  long  brought  them  together,  and  they 
were  again  united.  But  the  heart,  once  estranged  from 
the  object  of  its  affections,  is  ever  afterward  cold  and 
passionless.  A  faint  light  may  glimmer  for  a  while  on  the 
altar,  but  the  sacred  fire  is  never  again  renewed.  The  urn 
itself  is  polluted,  and  breaks  as  it  were  from  very  cold 
ness,  refusing  even  to  hold  the  ashes  of  its  former  love. 
After  the  separation,  SHELLEY  traveled  on  the  continent 
with  Mary  Godwin,  the  daughter  of  William  Godwin  and 
Mary  Wolstonecraft.  On  his  return  to  England  he  learned 
that  his  wife  had  committed  suicide.  This  event  tinged 
with  sorrow  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

It  is  thought  that  he  endeavored  to  describe  his  feelings 


7  2  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TV  RE. 

at  this  occurrence  in  the  portrait  of  the  maniac  in  "  Julian 
and  Maddalo." 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  say  to  what  extent  SHELLEY  is 
to  blame  for  the  causes  which  led  this  unhappy  woman  to 
seek  refuge  from  her  troubles  in  the  grave.  It  is  certain 
that  she  became  imbued  with  his  religious  opinions,  and 
was  thus  deprived  of  the  only  comfort  that  could  possibly 
bring  rest  to  her  weary  soul. 

In  a  short  time  after  this  occurrence,  he  married  Miss 
Godwin,  and  to  her  we  must  attribute  the  inspiration  of 
some  of  his  greatest  poems.  In  1818  he  wrote  his  "  Beatrice 
Cenci,"  and  in  1819  his  beautiful  tribute  to  Keats. 

SHELLEY  was  passionately  fond  of  boating.  There  was 
no  other  amusement  that  afforded  him  so  much  pleasure. 
In  July,  1822,  he  and  a  Mr.  Williams  sailed  from  Leghorn 
to  Lerici  in  a  boat  of  peculiar  construction,  requiring  the 
most  skilful  management.  The  boat  was  upset  in  a  storm, 
and  their  bodies  were  washed  ashore.  In  SHELLEY'S  pocket 
was  found  a  copy  of  Keats'  poem,  "Lamia."  The  quaran 
tine  regulations  of  Tuscany  required  everything  to  be  burnt 
that  drifted  to  shore.  In  accordance  with  this  custom,  his 
remains  were  burned  in  the  presence  of  Lord  Byron,  Leigh' 
Hunt,  and  Mr.  Trelawney.  A  funeral  pyre  was  made  of 
the  most  precious  materials,  including  frankincense,  per 
fume,  and  wine.  As  the  beautiful  flame  lifted  its  quivering 
light  to  heaven,  it  is  said  to  have  looked  as  though  it  con 
tained  the  glassy  essence  of  vitality. 

His  ashes  were  collected  and  deposited  in  the  Protestant 
burial-ground  in  Rome,  near  the  grave  of  Keats,  where 
flowers  ever  bloom  and  breathe  their  perfume  upon  the  air. 

SHELLEY  has  been  cited  as  an  august  example  to  those 
who  aspire  to  universal  knowledge.  He  was  the  most 
diligent  of  students.  He  read  and  studied  at  all  times  — 
at  table,  in  bed,  and  while  walking  and  riding.  Out  of  the 


PERCY  B  YSSHE  SHELLS  i\  73 

twenty-four  hours  he  frequently  read  eighteen.  It  is  said 
that  he  was  unrivaled  in  the  justness  and  extent  of  his 
observations  on  natural  objects,  and  that  he  knew  every 
plant  by  its  name,  and  was  familiar  with  all  the  productions 
of  the  earth. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  define  his  views  of  religion. 
Indeed,  it  would  seem  that  he  had  no  fixed  or  settled  ideas 
of  religion.  In  "  Queen  Mab  "  he  speaks  of  a  spirit  of  the 
universe  and  a  co-eternal  fairy  of  the  earth.  At  one  time 
he  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  a  pre-existing  state.  On 
one  occasion  he  met  a  ragged,  bare-headed  gypsy  girl, 
about  five  or  six  years  old,  gathering  shells.  He  ran  up  to 
her  and  exclaimed  :  "  How  much  intellect  is  here,  and  what 
an  occupation  for  one  who  once  knew  the  whole  circle  of 
the  sciences  —  who  has  forgotten  them  all,  it  is  true,  but 
who  could  certainly  recollect  them,  though  it  is  most  prob 
able  she  never  will." 

After  propounding  a  number  of  questions  to  the  little 
gypsy,  which  of  course  were  unintelligible  to  her,  he  turned 
from  her  and  said  to  a  friend  accompanying  him,  "  Every 
true  Platonist  .must  be  fond  of  children,  for  they  are  our 
masters  in  philosophy.  The  mind  of  a  new-born  child  is 
not,  as  Locke  says,  a  sheet  of  blank  paper.  On  the  con 
trary  it  is  an  Elzevir  Plato,  say  rather  an  encyclopaedia, 
comprising  all  that  ever  was  or  ever  will  be  discovered." 

Quite  a  number  of  similar  stories  are  told  illustrative  of 
SHELLEY'S  faith  in  the  doctrine  of  Pre-existence.  It  is  said 
that  one  day  he  met  a  woman  on  Magdalen  Bridge  with  a 
child  in  her  arms.  He  immediately  seized  it,  to  the  horror 
of  the  mother,  who  took  him  for  a  madman,  and  was  fear 
ful  that  he  might  throw  it  in  the  water.  SHELLEY  exclaimed, 
"  Madam,  will  your  baby  tell  us  anything  about  Pre-exist 
ence  ? "  On  being  assured  that  the  child  could  not  speak, 
he  continued,  "  Worse  and  worse  ;  but  surely  the  babe  can 
4 


74  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

speak  if  he  will,  for  he  is  only  a  few  weeks  old.  He  may 
perhaps  fancy  that  he  cannot,  but  that  is  a  silly  whim.  He 
cannot  have  entirely  forgotten  the  use  of  speech  in  so  short 
a  time.  The  thing  is  impossible." 

We  cannot  take  leave  of  SHELLEY  without  a  few  words 
in  regard  to  his  poetry. 

He  was  perhaps  the  most  perfect  versifier  in  the  language. 
His  words  seemed  ever  to  come  winged  and  obedient  to 
his  call.  His  lines  to  "An  Indian  Air,"  and  his  "Ode  to 
the  Skylark,"  are  unequaled  for  the  exquisite  softness  and 
delicacy  of  their  rhythm  and  melody.  They  give  "  a  very 
echo  to  the  seat  where  Love  is  throned."  Words  fail  to 
express  sufficient  admiration  for  the  "  Sensitive  Plant."  It 
seems  that  a  touch  would  profane  it.  It  is  of  this  world, 
and  yet  not  of  this  world.  We  have  in  it  everything  that 
is  deliciously  ravishing  in  romance  and  poetry.  It  is  every 
where  enameled  with  thoughts  of  gold.  Passion  seems  to 
emanate  from  it  as  if  from  a  shrine.  It  is  like  an  exhala 
tion  from  the  most  exquisite  perfume  that  dies,  as  it  were, 
from  its  very  sweetness.  All  the  inspiration  at  the  com 
mand  of  genius,  beauty,  power,  and  passion,  breathes  and 
glows  and  burns  around  it,  and  we  are  as  much  impressed 
with  its  weird  and  inexplicable  philosophy, 

"  Where  nothing  is,  but  all  things  seem, 
And  we  the  shadows  of  the  dream," 

as  with  the  delicious  and  entrancing  music  of  its  numbers. 
What  could  be  finer  than  the  description  of  the  flowers 
that  bloomed  in  the  garden  where  the  Sensitive  Plant 
closed  its  fan-like  leaves  beneath  the  kisses  of  night  ? — 

"  And  the  Naiad-like  Lily  of  the  vale, 
"Whom  youth  makes  so  fair  and  passion  so  pale  ; 

And  the  Rose  like  a  nymph  to  the  bath  addressed, 
Which  unveiled  the  depth  of  her  glowing  breast, 
Till  fold  after  fold  to  the  fainting  air 
The  soul  of  her  beauty  and  love  lay  bare." 


PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 


75 


The  description  of  the  Eve  of  this  Eden,  who  "  tended 
this  garden  fair,"  is  even  more  passionately  beautiful : 

"  She  had  no  companion  of  mortal  race, 
But  her  tremulous  breath  and  flushing  face 
Told,  while  the  morn  kissed  the  sleep  from  her  eyes, 
That  her  dreams  were  less  slumber  than  Paradise. 

"  As  if  some  bright  spirit,  for  her  sweet  sake, 
Had  deserted  Heaven  while  the  stars  were  awake ; 
As  if  yet  around  her  he  lingering  were, 
Though  the  veil  of  daylight  concealed  him  from  her." 

"Epipsychidion,"  next  to  the  "Sensitive  Plant,"  is  the 
most  strangely  beautiful  of  all  the  author's  productions.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  exquisite  love-poems  in  the  whole  range 
of  English  literature.  It  is  the  very  soul  of  passion  and 
purity.  There  is  not  the  slightest  taint  of  indelicacy  about 
it.  There  is  nothing  whatever  in  it  that  could  tend  to 
convey  the  impression  of  licentiousness  or  sensuality.  It 
is  confused  in  passion's  golden  purity. 

"  Like  a  naked  bride, 
Glowing  at  once  with  love  and  loveliness, 
Blushes  and  trembles  at  its  own  excess." 

In  a  former  part  of  this  sketch  we  spoke  of  SHELLEY'S 
insane  speculations  upon  the  Christian  religion.  It  is 
gratifying  to  know  that  as  he  advanced  in  life  his  faith 
became  more  and  more  weakened  in  the  wretched  philo 
sophy  which  he  endeavored  to  substitute  for  the  divine  pre 
cepts  of  our  Saviour.  Had  he  lived  a  few  years  longer,  we 
do  not  doubt  that  his  atheistical  opinions  would  have  been 
wholly  discarded. 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 

ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA  deservedly  stands  in  the  front 
rank  of  SHAKSPEARE'S  Roman  historical  dramas.  It  is  one 
of  the  most  wonderful,  varied,  and  magnificent  of  all  his 
creations.  There  is  an  irregular  grandeur  about  it  that 
presents  a  striking  contrast  to  the  restrained  and  thought 
ful  emotions  and  passions  delineated  in  "Coriolanus"  and 
"Julius  Cassar."  Critics  unite  in  the  opinion  that  it  was 
written  at  a  period  when  the  author's  mind  was  in  the 
fulness  of  its  power.  Coleridge  says :  "  The  highest 
praise,  or  rather  form  of  praise,  of  this  play  which  I  can 
offer  in  my  own  mind,  is  the  doubt  which  the  perusal 
always  occasions  in  me  whether  ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA 
is  not,  in  all  exhibitions  of  a  giant  power,  in  its  strength 
and  vigor  of  maturity,  a  formidable  rival  of  "  Macbeth," 
"  Lear,"  "  Hamlet,"  and  "  Othello." 

He  places  it  in  mental  contrast  with  "Romeo  and 
Juliet "  "  as  the  love  of  passion  and  appetite  opposed  to 
the  love  of  affection  and  instinct." 

There  is  little  or  no  resemblance  between  Juliet  and 
CLEOPATRA.  The  love  of  Juliet  is  the  love  of  youth  and 
innocence.  It  has  all  the  warmth,  and  tenderness,  and 
luxuriance  of  the  climate  in  which  she  lived.  The  love  of 
CLEOPATRA,  on  the  contrary,  is  the  love  of  a  woman,  as  she 
herself  says,  who  has  passed  her  "  salad  days,"  and  is  no 
longer  "  green  in  judgment."  It  is  a  love  that  rages  like  the 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA.  77 

fury  of  a  north  wind.  It  is  vehement,  tumultuous,  stormy. 
It  has  the  strength  and  fierceness  of  the  tiger  in  it.  There 
is  nothing  crude  and  unripe  about  it.  She  ever  struggles 
to  increase  and  stimulate  it,  and  to  mingle  with  it  all  the 
cravings  of  a  licentious  and  voluptuous  nature. 

The  minuteness  with  which  SHAKSPEARE  has  followed 
history  in  this  play  is  truly  wonderful.  He  has  embraced 
in  it  almost  every  incident  and  person  mentioned  by 
Plutarch,  and  what  is  added  has  such  an  air  of  truth 
that  we  do  not  once  think  of  doubting  its  reality.  Hence 
SHAKSPEARE'S  CLEOPATRA  is  the  CLEOPATRA  of  history. 
In  depicting  her  rare  beauty  and  accomplishments,  he  is 
not  unmindful  of  the  dark  shades  of  her  nature.  She 
regards  human  life  and  happiness  as  mere  playthings. 
Murder  and  violence  are  not  strangers  to  her  any  more 
than  passion  and  lust.  She  is  "  the  foul  Egyptian  "  as  well 
as  the  "great  fairy  "  and  "sweet  queen."  It  is  next  to  an 
impossibility  to  understand  her  character  or  to  unravel  it, 
if  indeed  it  is  not  inexplicable.  The  more  we  study  it,  the 
more  we  are  puzzled  and  bewildered.  Every  attempt  to 
analyse  it  leads  us  into  an  interminable  labyrinth  of  error 
and  inconsistency.  It  may  be  because  she  is  made  up  of 
inconsistencies.  If  she  is  consistent  in  anything  it  is  in 
being  inconsistent.  There  is  a  fascination  about  her  that 
is  irresistible.  She  displays  a  thousand  graces  and  beau 
ties  at  once,  and  a  thousand  faults  and  follies.  It  is 
impossible  to  tell  what  to  admire  most  in  her,  or  what 
most  to  detest.  She  seems  to  be  as  full  of  truth  and 
honor  as  she  is  of  fickleness  and  falsehood.  At  times  she 
is  more  charming  and  witty  than  Beatrice,  more  tender  and 
beautiful  than  Imogen,  more  passionate  and  enthusiastic 
than  Juliet,  more  graceful  and  ethereal  than  Miranda,  more 
poetic  and  imaginative  than  Viola,  and  more  stately  and 
dignified  than  Hermione.  Then,  again,  she  seems  to  be 


7  8  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

very  far  from  anything  of  the  kind.  If  she  is  unlike  any 
one  it  is  Octavia,  who  is  of  a  dull  and  still  conversation, 
who  shows  a  body  rather  than  a  life,  a  statue  rather  than 
a  breather. 

CLEOPATRA  is  well  called  the  "  great  fairy,"  "  enchant 
ress,"  "  a  most  triumphant  lady,"  "  cockatrice,"  "  serpent  of 
old  Nile,"  "  cunning  past  man's  thought,"  "  a  most  wonder 
ful  piece  of  work,"  "the  rare  Egyptian,"  and  "noble 
queen." 

Every  word  she  utters,  every  thought  she  expresses 
seems  to  belong  wholly  to  her. 

What  a  strange  method  she  has  of  enforcing  love  when 
she  says, 

"  See  where  he  is — who's  with  him  —  what  he  does. 
(I  did  not  send  you.)     If  you  find  him  sad, 
Say  I  am  dancing ;  if  in  mirth,  report 
That  I  am  sudden  sick  !     Quick  and  return." 

How  thoroughly  and  completely  she  fills  the  idea  of  a 
wilful  and  capricious  coquette,  but  a  coquette  unlike  any 
other  in  the  world's  history.  Enobarbus  tells  ANTONY,  in 
speaking  of  the  latter's  departure  for  Rome,  "  CLEOPATRA, 
catching  the  least  noise  of  this,  dies  instantly.  I  have 
seen  her  die  twenty  times  upon  far  poorer  moment." 

The  imagination  is  surfeited  with  the  description  of  her 
charms.  We  need  not  be  told  of  globed  and  gleaming 

limbs, — 

"  For  her  own  person 
It  beggared  all  description.     She  did  lie 
In  her  pavilion  (cloth  of  gold  of  tissue) 
O'erpicturing  that  Venus  where  we  see 
The  fancy  outwork  nature. 
***** 
Age  cannot  wither  her,  nor  custom  stale 
Her  infinite  variety.     Other  women  cloy 
The  appetites  they  feed,  but  she  makes  hungry 
Where  most  she  satisfies  :  for  vilest  things 
Become  themselves  in  her." 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA.  79 

The  charm  by  which  she  enslaved  the  passions  of 
ANTONY,  "  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  world,"  "  the  demi- 
Atlas  of  the  earth,"  "  the  arm  and  burgonet  of  men,"  is 
admirably  portrayed  in  the  following.  It  is  a  wonderful 
description  of  the  imperial  and  self-conscious  power  of 
woman's  evil  influence  over  the  affections  and  passions  of 
man. 

"  That  time  —  O  time  ! 

I  laughed  him  out  of  patience  ;  and  that  night 
I  laughed  him  into  patience ;  and  next  morn, 
Ere  the  ninth  hour,  I  drunk  him  to  his  bed ; 
Then  put  my  tires  and  mantles  on,  whilst 
I  wore  his  sword  Philippan." 

SHAKSPEARE  has  endowed  ANTONY  with  the  noblest 
attributes.  While  we  deplore  the  spell  of  "  the  enchant 
ress  "  over  him,  we  feel  that  he  must  be  admired  as  "  the 
garland  of  war,"  and  that  upon  his  sword  should  sit  "  laurel 
victory  and  smooth  success." 

His  lasciviousness  and  illness  did  hatch  ten  thousand 
ills;  but  he  is  the  ANTONY  who  fought  at  Philippi  and  at 
Modena,  who  slew  Hirtius  and  Pansa,  and  endured  famine, 
though  "daintily  brought  up,  with  patience  more  than 
savages  could  suffer."  He  is  the  triple  pillar  of  the  world, 
the  great  Triumvir  who  would  be  "  treble-sinewed  hearted, 
breathed  and  fight  maliciously,"  the  ANTONY  whom  none 
but  ANTONY  could  conquer.  The  scene  in  which  his  death 
is  foreshadowed  is  what  Hazlitt  calls  the  finest  piece  of 
poetry  in  SHAKSPEARE.  "The  splendor  of  the  imagery, 
the  semblance  of  reality,  the  lofty  range  of  picturesque 
objects  hanging  over  the  world,  their  evanescent  nature, 
the  total  uncertainty  of  what  is  left  behind,  are  just  like 
the  mouldering  schemes  of  human  greatness." 

"  Sometime  we  see  a  cloud  that's  dragonish, 
A  vapor  sometime  like  a  bear  or  lion, 


8o  STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE. 

A  towered  citadel,  a  pendant  rock, 

A  forked  mountain,  or  blue  promontory 

With  trees  upon't,  that  nod  unto  the  world 

And  mock  our  eyes  with  air.     Thou  hast  seen  these  signs  : 

They  are  black  vesper's  pageants." 

He  was  indeed  a  fit  companion  for  CLEOPATRA;  for  who 
but  one  "  with  half  the  bulk  of  the  world  played  as  he 
pleased,"  could  mate  with  her  ? 

The  influence  she  wielded  over  Caesar  and  Pompey 
serves  to  heighten  the  power  of  her  blandishments,  and 
palliate  the  conduct  of  him  who  "  madly  threw  a  world 
away." 

Caesar's  marriage  with  her  was  merely  nominal,  but  it  is 
stated  that  he  lived  openly  with  her  in  his  palace  under  the 
eyes  of  his  legitimate  wife. 

ANTONY  speaks  of  CLEOPATRA  as  being  "half  blasted 
ere  he  knew  her,"  and  as  finding  her  "  a  morsel  cold  upon 
dead  Caesar's  trencher,"  and  as  a  fragment  of  Cneius 
Pompey's,  but  history  hardly  confirms  the  story  of  her 
libertinism  with  Pompey. 

It  is  said  to  be  inconsistent  with  the  character  of  the 
man  whom  Cicero  describes  as  hominum  castum  et  severum 
et  integrum  et  gravem. 

One  of  the  finest  scenes  in  the  play  is  where  the  Egyp 
tian  Circe  calls  Charmian  to  give  her  "  drink  of  mandagora," 
that  she  may  "sleep  out  this  great  gap  of  time  while 
ANTONY  is  away."  It  is  here  that  she  says, 

"  He's  speaking  now 

Or  murmuring,  *  Where's  my  serpent  of  old  Nile  ? ' 
For  so  he  calls  me.     Now  I  feed  myself 
With  most  delicious  poison.     Think  on  me 
That  am  with  Phoebus'  amorous  pinches  black, 
And  wrinkled  deep  in  time." 

ANTONY  sends  her,  in  this  part  of  the  play,  a  pearl,  with 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA.  8 1 

a  message  that  he  will  piece  her  opulent  throne  with  king 
doms,  and  all  the  East  shall  call  her  mistress. 

CLEOPATRA'S  warmth  of  affection  is  admirably  contrasted 
with  her  perverseness  and  petulance  in  the  scene  where 
she  receives  a  messenger  from  Rome  with  the  tidings  of 
ANTONY'S  marriage  : 

"  ANTONY'S  dead ! 

If  thou  say  so,  villain,  thou  killest  thy  mistress. 
But  well  and  free, 

If  thou  so  yield  him,  there  is  gold,  and  here 
My  bluest  veins  to  kiss  ;  a  hand  that  kings 
Have  lipped,  and  trembled  kissing." 

The  pride  and  beauty  of  high  rank  are  here  grandly  dis 
played.  It  seems  almost  a  pity  to  take  this  poetic  gem 
from  its  setting. 

The  entire  scene  should  be  read  in  order  to  fully  appre 
ciate  its  wonderful  variety  of  imagery  and  gorgeousness 
of  coloring.  In  no  other  part  of  the  play  does  she  seem 
to  fuse  together  so  much  majesty  and  spirit,  and  talent, 
tact  and  wit,  pride  and  generosity,  petulance  and  wilful- 
ness,  caprice  and  fickleness. 

CLEOPATRA'S  peculiar  qualities  are  displayed  in  every 
thing  she  does,  even  in  the  choice  of  her  attendants. 
Charmian  and  Iris  have  a  recklessness  and  daring,  a 
wantonness  and  levity,  that  seem  especially  adapted  for 
ministering  to  the  wants  and  pleasures  of  such  a  queen. 
A  woman  like  Charmian,  who  wished  to  be  married  to 
three  kings  in  an  afternoon,  and  to  widow  them  all  and 
have  a  child  at  fifty  to  whom  Herod  of  Jewry  might  do 
homage,  would  hardly  suit  for  the  companionship  of  any 
one  else  but  CLEOPATRA. 

The  grandeur  of  CLEOPATRA'S  death  does  much  to  re 
lieve  her  unpardonable  crimes,  and  to  soften  the  dark  traits 
of  her  character.  She  preserved  her  majesty  and  dignity 
4* 


82  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

to  the  last.  She  would  be  seen  even  in  death  only  as  a 
queen,  crown  and  all.  Her  command  is :  "  Go  fetch  my 
best  attires  j  I  am  again  for  Cydnus  to  meet  MARC  ANTONY." 
She  who  boasted  in  the  presence  of  "  the  case  of  that 
huge  spirit " — 

"  It  were  for  me 

To  throw  my  sceptre  at  the  injurious  gods, 
To  tell  them  that  this  world  did  equal  theirs, 
Till  they  had  stolen  our  jewel," 

might  indeed  be  said  to  look  in  deathlike  sleep  as 

"  She  would  catch  another  ANTONY 
In  her  strong  toil  of  grace." 


CYMBELINE. 

CYMBELINE  is  the  most  romantic  and  imaginative  of  all 
SHAKSPEARE'S  plays.  It  seems  to  give  birth  to  every  wave 
of  thought,  of  feeling  and  reflection.  Every  excellence  in 
woman  is  delineated  in  the  character  of  the  heroine,  Imo 
gen.  She  is  the  very  soul  of  purity,  of  honor  and  good 
ness.  Every  word  she  utters  sounds  like  a  sweet  note  of 
music  from  some  undiscovered  orb  of  song.  Her  intellect 
is  almost  as  wonderful  as  her  beauty,  and  her  beauty  is  the 
most  perfect  dream  of  luxuriant  loveliness.  There  is 
nothing  vain,  or  haughty,  or  selfish  about  her.  She  is  as 
peerless  in  the  innate  delicacy  and  majesty  of  her  charms 
as  a  goddess.  She  moves  through  an  atmosphere  of  corl 
ruption  and  deceit  like  a  breath  of  summer,  a  glimpse  of 
sunshine.  She  has  the  deepest  and  most  exquisite  sensi 
bilities  and  the  purest  and  loftiest  affections.  She  com 
bines  in  herself  all  the  grace  and  tenderness  and  innocence 
and  simplicity  of  youth,  and  all  the  strength  and  firmness 
and  constancy  of  mature  womanhood. 

The  plot  of  CYMBELINE  is  derived  from  various  sources. 
SHAKSPEARE  found  in  Hollingshead's  Chronicles  of  England 
and  Scotland  some  of  the  material  of  the  play,  including 
the  names  of  CYMBELINE  and  his  sons,  together  with  some 
account  of  the  King's  reign,  and  the  tribute  demanded  by 
the  Romans.  It  is  said  that  he  also  derived  the  beautiful 
name  of  Imogen  from  the  same  source,  and  that  in  the  old 


84  STUDIES  IN  L2TEKA 1 UKE. 

black-letter  it  is  scarcely  distinguished  from  Innogen,  the 
wife  of  Brute,  King  of  Britain.  The  story  of  the  discovery 
of  the  rnole  upon  Imogen's  breast  is  taken  either  from 
Boccaccio's  beautiful  novel  of  "Zeneura"  in  the  Decameron, 
or  from  a  French  romance  entitled  De  La  Violettc,  first 
published  in  the  thirteenth  century. 

The  hero  of  La  Vioktte  is  Gerard  de  Nevers,  called  the 
false  Paridel  of  French  romance.  He  is  described  as 
being  young  and  handsome,  and  graced  with  many  accom 
plishments.  He  obtains  by  stealth  the  knowledge  of  a 
secret  mark  upon  the  breast  of  the  heroine. 

"  Et  vit  sur  sa  destre  mamele, 
line  violete  novele, 
Ynde  parut  sous  la  char  blanche." 

The  above  lines,  Verplanc  says,  bear  some  resemblance 
to  the  description  of  the  same  incident  in  CYMBELINE  ;  but 
adds,  it  is  probable  the  English  poet  never  read  the  story, 
and  what  seems  to  -be  an  adaptation  should  be  regarded 
only  as  a  remarkable  coincidence. 

Collier,  in  his  "  Shakspeare's  Library,"  gives  an  account 
of  a  French  miracle-play,  published  in  1639,  which  contains 
some  of  the  incidents  of  CYMBELINE,  the  wager  on  the 
chastity  of  the  heroine,  her  flight  in  the  disguise  of  a  page, 
the  proof  of  her  innocence,  and  her  final  restoration  to  her 
husband.  Mr.  Collier  says  that  the  French  play  contains 
two  circumstances  introduced  into  CYMBELINE  not  found 
in  any  other  version  of  the  story,  viz.,  the  method  of  assail 
ing  the  heroine's  virtue  by  exciting  her  anger  and  jealousy, 
and  the  boast  of  one  of  the  characters  that  "  if  he  were 
allowed  the  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her  but  twice  he 
should  be  able  to  accomplish  his  design." 

SHAKSPEARE  was  doubtless  acquainted  with  this  play, 
but  it  is  evident  that  he  made  use  of  Boccaccio's  novel. 


CYMBELINE.  85 

He  was  doubtless  sufficiently  versed  in  the  Italian  to  read 
it  in  the  original.  We  can  imagine  the  impression  Boccac 
cio's  charming  story  made  upon  his  mind.  It  is  the  most 
exquisite  creation  in  the  Decameron.  The  Griseldis  will 
not  begin  to  compare  with  it.  It  is  even  more  fascinating 
than  the  "  Giletta  di  Narbonna."  Each  and  all  the  incidents 
are  related  with  singular  sweetness,  and  power,  and  beauty 
and  clearness.  We  deeply  sympathise  with  the  trials  and 
sufferings,  the  long  and  patient  wanderings  of  the  fair 
Zeneura,  and  rejoice  at  the  punishment  of  the  fiend  who 
boasted,  "  Woman  only  is  pure  who  has  never  been  asked, 
or  she  who  herself  has  asked  and  been  refused." 

But  beautiful  as  is  Boccaccio's  story,  Zeneura  cannot  be 
compared  with  Imogen.  We  see  in  the  former  only  a 
rugged  outline  of  the  depths  and  soundings  of  the  human 
passions,  of  the  delicate  and  tender  and  confiding  love 
liness  of  the  soul  so  wonderfully  and  eloquently  portrayed 
in  the  latter.  There  are  so  many  beauties  in  Imogen's 
character  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  analyse  them  or 
describe  them. 

In  the  parting  scene  in  the  first  act  we  have  the  follow 
ing  inimitable  description  of  unselfish  love : 

"  Nay,  stay  a  little. 

Were  you  but  riding  forth  to  air  yourself, 
Such  parting  were  too  petty.     Look  here,  love  : 
This  diamond  ring  was  my  mother's ;  take  it,  heart, 
But  keep  it  till  you  woo  another  wife, 
When  Imogen  is  dead." 

How  deeply  she  feels  the  reproaches  of  her  father  against 
her  husband  when  she  says, 

"  There  cannot  be  a  pinch  in  death 
More  sharp  than  this  !  " 

She  is  compelled  to  submit  to  the  unexampled  tyranny 
of  "  a  father  governed  by  a  step-dame  hourly  coining  plots," 


86  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

and  to  the  serpent-like  approaches  of  the  "  yellow  lachimo," 
who  is  destitute  of  any  redeeming  traits  whatever.  This 
fiend,  armed  with  audacity  from  head  to  foot,  like  lago, 
only  lives  to  assail  virtue  and  destroy  happiness.  His 
moral  constitution  is  utterly  incapable  of  digesting  anything 
but  poison.  And  yet  he  is  introduced  to  IMOGEN  as  "  one 
of  the  noblest  note,"  as  one  to  whom  her  husband  is  "  most 
infinitely  tied."  When  this  base  slanderer  insinuates  that 
Posthumus  is  a  renegade  from  her  bed,  and  indulges  in 
"  vaulting  variable  ramps  "  at  her  expense,  she  believes 
nothing  in  haste,  and  offers  no  other  reproach  than 

"  My  Lord,  I  fear,  has  forgotten  Britain." 

The  more  we  study  her  the  more  we  love  and  admire 
her.  She  ever  presents  the  most  complete  and  perfect  idea 
of  womanhood.  Even  in  the  most  trying  scenes  she  never 
loses  her  self-possession.  SHAKSPEARE  has  nowhere  given 
a  wider  scope  to  his  imagination  than  in  the  delineation  of 
her  character.  And  yet  none  of  his  heroines  are  more  life 
like  and  natural.  She  charms  all  who  behold  her.  Even 
in  her  male  attire  we  are  constantly  impressed  with  the 
inborn  delicacy  and  refinement  and  purity  of  her  princi 
ples.  She  is  indeed  the  embodiment  of  love  and  innocence, 
the  sweetest,  fairest  lily.  No  wonder  Guiderius  exclaims 
when  seeing  her  disguised  as  a  page,  "  Were  you  a  woman, 
youth,  I  should  woo  hard  but  be  your  groom,  in  honesty," 
and  that  Lucius,  the  Roman  General,  should  call  her  "  the 
page,  so  kind,  so  duteous,  diligent." 

Perhaps  the  most  luxurious  display  of  the  personal 
charms  of  woman  in  SHAKSPEARE  is  the  description  of 
Imogen  in  the  sleeping  scene.  It  is  unequaled  for  the 
gorgeous  richness  of  its  coloring,  and  the  variety  and 
splendor  of  its  imagery. 

"  The  crickets  sing,  and  man's  o'erlabor'd  sense 
Repairs  itself  by  rest ;  our  Tarquin  thus        * 


CYMBELINE.  87 

Did  softly  press  the  rushes,  ere  he  'waken'd 
The  chastity  he  wounded. —  Cytherea, 
How  bravely  thou  becom'st  thy  bed  !  fresh  lily, 
And  whiter  than  the  sheets  !  that  I  might  touch  ! 
But  kiss,  one  kiss  !  rubies  unparagon'd  ! 
How  dearly  they  do't !     Tis  her  breathing  that 
Perfumes  the  chamber  thus ;  the  flame  o'  the  taper 
Bows  toward  her,  and  would  underpeep  her  lids 
To  see  th'  inclosed  lights  now  canopied 
Under  these  windows,  white  and  azure,  lac'd 
With  blue  of  heaven's  own  tinct ;  on  her  left  breast 
A  mole  cinque-spotted  like  the  crimson  drops 
I'  the  bottom  of  a  cowslip." 

The  words  in  which  she  mourns  the  loss  of  her  bracelet, 
which  lachimo  had  stolen  for  the  purpose  of  convincing 
her  husband  of  her  infidelity,  are  beautiful  beyond  de 
scription  : 

"  Go,  bid  my  woman 
Search  for  a  jewel  that  too  casually 
Hath  left  my  arm.     It  was  thy  master's  :  'shrew  me, 
If  I  would  lose  it  for  a  revenue 
Of  any  king  in  Europe.     I  do  think 
I  saw't  this  morning ;  confident  I  am 
Last  night  'twas  on  mine  arm.     I  kiss'd  it. 
I  hope  it  has  not  gone  to  tell  my  lord 
That  I  kiss  aught  but  he." 

It  has  been  said  that  "  our  consciousness  that  the  brace 
let  is  really  gone  to  bear  false  witness  against  her,  adds  an 
inexpressibly  touching  effect  to  the  simplicity  and  tender 
ness  of  the  sentiment." 

In  studying  this  play  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  Posthu- 
mus  deserves  forgiveness.  His  wager  about  his  wife's 
chastity  and  his  readiness  to  believe  her  guilty,  to  say 
nothing  of  his  rashness  in  pursuing  his  revenge,  one  would 
think  could  scarcely  excite  any  other  feeling  than  that  of 
contempt.  But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  not 


88  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

forget  Imogen's  unconquerable  love  for  him,  and  that  she 
herself  forgave  him,  and  that  he  is  described  as  one  who 
sat  among  men  like  a  descended  god,  with  an  honor  about 
him  more  than  mortal  seeming. 


HAMLET. 

IN  discussing,  some  years  ago,  with  a  friend,  the  merits 
of  Edwin  Booth's  performance  of  HAMLET,  he  urged  as  an 
objectionable  feature  in  Booth's  delineation  of  the  charac 
ter  that  he  did  his  utmost  to  convey  the  impression  that 
HAMLET'S  madness  was  not  real  but  only  feigned.  My 
friend  argued  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  play  to  war 
rant  such  a  conclusion.  He  said  it  was  certainly  SHAKS- 
PEARE'S  intention  to  define  clearly  and  unmistakably  one 
of  the  most  palpable,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  interesting 
phases  of  insanity,  and  that  we  could  not  assign  any  other 
reason  than  madness  for  his  wild  and  irregular  disposition, 
and  pointless  and  purposeless  conduct. 

I  attempted  to  refute  this  theory  by  suggesting  that  any 
refined  and  cultivated  nature  would  have  acted  just  as 
HAMLET  did,  if  surrounded  by  the  same  circumstances.  I 
said  that,  in  order  to  understand  fully  the  secret  workings 
of  HAMLET'S  conscience,  we  must  look  upon  him  as  a  being 
compounded,  like  other  men,  with  a  goodly  share  of  both 
the  faults  and  virtues  of  humanity,  and  that  we  must  re 
member  the  horror  of  his  situation,  the  supernatural 
visitation  of  his  father's  spirit  in  arms,  and  the  awful  com 
mand  it  gave  him  "not  to  let  the  royal  bed  of  Den 
mark  be  a  couch  for  luxury  and  damned  incest."  These 
suggestions  were  met  by  a  eulogy  upon  the  character  of 
Ophelia.  She  was  described  as  the  most  perfect  incarna- 


9o 


STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE. 


tion  of  virtue,  of  gentleness  and  innocence.  She  was 
compared  "to  the  rose  of  May  —  O  flower  too  soon 
faded  ? " —  to  the  summer  cloud,  the  snow-flake,  the  voice 
of  silvery  fountains,  the  charm  of  earliest  birds,  and  to  all 
that  is  lovely  and  lovable  in  the  worlds  of  reality  and 
imagination. 

Being  unable  to  recall  any  considerable  portion  of  the 
text  by  which  I  hoped  to  sustain  the  position  that  HAM 
LET'S  madness  was  assumed,  I  was  at  length  silenced  with 
the  exclamation  that  no  one  but  a  brute  or  a  madman 
"  loosed  out  of  hell,"  could  outrage  the  exquisite  sensibili 
ties  of  a  woman  constituted  like  Ophelia,  by  ordering  her 
to  a  nunnery,  asking  her  if  she  would  be  a  breeder  of 
sinners,  and  saying,  "God  hath  given  you  one  face,  and 
you  give  yourselves  another ;  you  jig,  you  amble,  and  you 
lisp,  and  nickname  God's  creatures,  and  make  your  wan 
tonness  your  ignorance." 

I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  was  so  impressed  with  this 
conversation  that  I  determined  immediately  to  study  the 
play  with  the  greatest  care,  and  to  read  everything  that  I 
could  procure  in  relation  to  it,  with  a  view  of  settling  defi 
nitely  and  forever  in  my  mind  this  perplexing  feature  in 
the  character  of  this  darling  of  the  English  stage  —  this 
prince  courtier,  scholar  and  gentleman,  whose  subtle  argu 
ments  and  philosophical  meditations  penetrate  into  the 
profoundest  recesses  of  the  soul.  My  study  and  researches 
have  been  rewarded  with  the  most  fixed  and  settled  convic 
tions  that  HAMLET  was  not  mad  —  neither  partially  nor 
wholly  —  and  that  SHAKSPEARE  never  intended  to  convey 
the  idea  of  madness  any  further  than  to  surround  the  play 
with  an  air  of  mystery  for  the  purpose  of  heightening  its 
beauty  and  sublimity. 

In  the  earliest  edition  of  HAMLET,  that  of  1603,  we 
find  that  SHAKSPEARE  made  the  description  of  HAMLET'S 


HAMLE7\  91 

madness  much  stronger  than  he  did  in  the  amended  copy. 
The  edition  of  1608  was  doubtless  an  imperfect  copy  of 
the  first  conception  of  the  poet.  The  later  edition  was 
such  an  improvement  on  the  first  that  the  date  of  it  has 
generally  been  regarded  as  the  period  that  marks  the  birth 
of  that  thoughtful  philosophy  so  wonderfully  portrayed  in 
all  the  carefully-elaborated  works  of  the  author. 

In  the  first  copy  the  King  speaks  of  HAMLET  as  having 
"  lost  the  very  heart  of  all  his  sense,"  while  in  the  amended 
one  he  speaks  of  him  simply  as  being  "  put  from  the  under 
standing  of  himself." 

In  the  first  copy,  Polonius  speaks  of  his  madness  chang 
ing  by  continuance  "  into  this  frenzy  which  now  possesses 
him."  In  the  revised  copy  we  have  "  a  fast,  a  watch,  a 
weakness,  a  lightness,  and  a  madness." 

Charles  Knight,  one  of  the  most  indefatigable  of  Shak- 
spearean  scholars,  remarks  that  the  reason  of  this  change  is 
that  "  SHAKSPEARE  did  not,  either  in  his  first  sketch  or  his 
amended  copy,  intend  his  audience  to  believe  that  HAMLET 
was  essentially  mad,  and  he  removed,  therefore,  the  strong 
expressions  which  might  encourage  that  belief." 

Dr.  Johnson  thought  HAMLET'S  madness  feigned,  but 
was  silly  enough  to  add  that  it  "excited  much  mirth." 

Coleridge  has,  perhaps,  shown  a  more  critical  apprecia 
tion  of  HAMLET  than  any  of  the  other  modern  Shakspearean 
scholars  (unless,  indeed,  we  except  some  of  the  German 
critics,  Lessing  and  Schlegel  for  instance),  takes  the  posi 
tion  that  HAMLET'S  wildness  is  but  half  false,  that  he 
plays  that  subtle  trick  of  pretending  to  act  only  when  he  is 
very  near  really  being  what  he  acts.  Coleridge,  however, 
reconciles  HAMLET'S  sanity  in  the  scene  with  Ophelia  on 
the  ground  that. "the  Prince  perceived,  from  the  strange 
and  forced  manner  of  Ophelia,  that  the  sweet  girl  was  not 
acting  a  part  of  her  own,  but  was  a  decoy,  and  his  after 


02  S  TUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TUR  E, 

speeches  were  not  so  much  directed  to  her  as  to  the  spies 
and  listeners." 

The  idea  that  HAMLET'S  wildness  was  but  half  false 
doubtless  formed  the  ground-work  for  the  beautiful  and 
ingenious  theory  of  Henry  Hudson,  viz.,  that  "HAMLET'S 
madness  is  neither  real  nor  affected,  but  is  a  sort  of  natural 
and  spontaneous  imitation  of  madness ;  the  triumph  of  his 
reason  over  passion  naturally  expressing  itself  in  the  tokens 
of  insanity,  just  as  the  agonies  of  despair  naturally  vent 
themselves  in  flashes  of  mirth." 

Dr.  John  Connoly,  in  a  little  work  entitled  "  A  Study  of 
Hamlet,"  sustains  the  theory  of  HAMLET'S  madness  with 
considerable  zeal,  on  the  ground  that  the  Prince  could  not 
have  misled  Ophelia,  who  was  accustomed  to  read  his 
inmost  thoughts.  Dr.  Kellogg,  a  physician  to  the  State 
lunatic  asylum  of  New  York,  takes  the  same  position,  and 
says,  "  Ophelia  was  no  incompetent  judge.  The  lynx-eyed 
vigilance  of  woman's  love  could  not  be  deceived,  and  she 
has  read  correctly  the  riddle  which  has  so  perplexed  all 
Shakspearean  critics." 

Dr.  Ray  in  his  work  on  Medical  Jurisprudence,  also 
maintains  the  same  view ;  but  surely  these  physicians, 
who  claim  to  have  given  so  much  study  to  the  pathology 
of  the  mind,  ought  not  to  forget  that  chronic  mania  is  very 
easily  feigned,  and  often  feigned  successfully.  Dr.  Buck- 
nill  relates  an  instance  of  a  gentleman  who  kept  up  the 
practice  of  insanity  for  more  than  two  years  before  he 
broke  down  in  his  part,  and  of  another  who  kept  up  the 
practice  much  longer.  I  have  myself  observed  cases 
where  the  ablest  physicians  were  unable  to  detect  the 
imposture.  Indeed,  the  task  is  often  as  difficult  as  the  de 
tection  of  partial  idealiation  insanity,  where  the  patient  is 
suspicious  and  tries  to  hide  it. 

The  theory  of  HAMLET'S  madness  is  very  popular  with 


HAMLET. 


93 


the  French  school  of  critics.  M.  Villemain,  in  a  late  work, 
has  quite  settled  it  to  his  entire  satisfaction  ;  but  of  all 
critics  of  SHAKSPEARE,  the  French  have  shown  themselves 
the  most  incompetent  and  unappreciative.  Those  who 
have  undertaken  to  translate  his  plays  into  French,  without 
a  single  exception  performed  their  work  most  abominably- 
The  story  of  the  Frenchman  translating  the  phrase  "  Frailty, 
thy  name  is  woman,"  into  "  Frailty  is  the  name  of  a 
woman,"  is  scarcely  an  exaggeration. 

It  has  been  said  that  HAMLET'S  conduct  cannot  be 
accounted  for  solely  on  the  ground  of  the  absorbing  and 
overwhelming  influence  of  the  one  paramount  thought 
which  renders  hopeless  and  jWorthless  all  that  formerly 
occupied  his  affections,  from  the  fact  that  it  is  not  directly 
supported  by  the  text,  though  worthy  of  the  feeling  and 
conception  of  the  poet.  Whether  worthy  or  not,  I  can  but 
believe  that  HAMLET'S  purpose  of  avenging  his  father's 
murder  is  the  chief  business  of  the  play.  It  seems  to  have 
occupied  HAMLET'S  thoughts  to  the  exclusion  of  "  all  trivial 
fond  records,  all  saws  of  books,  all  forms,  all  pressures 
past."  He  considers  nothing  else  half  so  deeply.  Be 
cause  he  should  have  doubts  and  misgivings,  and  ask  if  the 
ghost  is  an  honest  ghost,  and  be  deeply  affected  at  Ophe 
lia's  too  confiding  obedience  to  her  father,  there  is  no 
reason  to  believe  that  there  is  anything  unnatural  or  incon 
sistent  in  it.  The  play  would  not  be  what  it  is  if  HAMLET 
had  but  one  thought  and  object.  The  truth  is,  SHAKS 
PEARE  did  not  intend  to  portray  HAMLET  unlike  the  rest 
of  the  human  family,  but  to  give  us  a  kind  of  idealised 
picture  of  humanity ;  not  the  portrait  of  an  individual 
character,  but  of  a  universal  nature,  a  nature  that  pervades 
all  classes  of  society  ;  and  this  alone  is  the  cause  of  a  want 
of  unanimity  of  opinion  concerning  the  purpose  of  the 
author.  If  there  were  no  complexity  about  the  play  we 


94  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

could  see  through  it  at  a  glance,  and  would  cast  it  aside, 
caring  nothing  -whatever  about  it. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  anything  further  in  pallia 
tion  of  HAMLET'S  treatment  of  Ophelia;  but  those  who 
have  had  the  good  fortune  to  witness  Booth's  personation 
of  HAMLET  cannot  fail  to  have  observed  the  painful  ex 
pression  of  his  countenance  when  upbraiding  her.  With 
brow  slightly  knit  and  the  lower  lip  tightly  compressed,  and 
"  pale  as  his  shirt,"  he  endeavors,  almost  as  if  by  a  super 
human  effort,  to  conceal  the  pain  it  gives  him ;  but  when 
his  face  is  turned  from  her,  the  indescribable  agony  of  his 
soul  is  made  wonderfully  apparent  in  the  fearful  writhings 
of  his  countenance.  We  almost  hear 

"  A  sigh  so  piteous  and  profound 
That  it  did  seem  to  shatter  all  his  bulk, 
And  end  his  being." 

If  HAMLET  wished  the  command  of  the  ghost  to  live 
within  the  book  and  volume  of  his  brain,  and  to  avenge 

"  Such  an  act, 

That  blurs  the  grace  and  blush  of  modesty ; 
Calls  virtue  hypocrite  ;  takes  off  the  rose 
From  the  fair  forehead  of  innocent  love, 
And  sets  a  blister  there  ;  makes  marriage  vows 
As  false  as  dicers'  oaths," 

surely  Ophelia  should  be  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
possess  a  knowledge  of  the  means  by  which  he  hoped  to 
accomplish  it.  He  could  not  help  "  being  cruel  in  order 
to  be  kind."  Moreover,  HAMLET'S  harshness  was  aimed 
not  so  much  at  her  as  at  her  sex.  The  plague  he  gave  her 
as  a  dowry,  "  Be  thou  as  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as  snow, 
thou  canst  not  escape  calumny,"  is  the  severest  speech  he 
makes  directly  to  her. 

When  HAMLET  first  conceived  the  idea  of  putting  an 
antic  disposition  on,  his  next  thought  was  how  to  conceal 


HAMLET.  95 

it,  and  for  this  reason  he  treated  the  ghost  with  pretended 
levity,  in  such  speeches  as 

"  Ha,  ha,  boy  !  says't  thou  so  ?  art  thou  there,  true  penny  ? 
Come  on  —  you  hear  this  fellow  in  the  cellarage  — 
Consent  to  swear  !  " 

And  — 

"  Well  said,  old  mole  !  can't  work  in  the  earth  so  fast, 
A  worthy  pioneer." 

Hence  his  swearing  Horatio  and  Marcellus  to  secrecy  — 

"  That  you  at  such  times  seeing  me  never  shall, 
With  arms  encumbered  thus,  or  this,  head  shake, 
Or,  by  pronouncing  of  some  doubtful  phrase, 
As,  «  Well,  well,  we  knew '—  or,  '  We  could  an  if  we  would  ' — 

or,  '  if  we  list ' —  or, 
'  There  be  an  if  they  might,' 
Or  such  ambiguous  giving  out  to  note 
That  you  know  aught  of  me, —  this  not  to  do, 
So  grace  and  mercy  at  your  most  need  help  you. 
Swear  !  " 

HAMLET,  the  reader  will  observe,  evaded  the  curiosity 
of  his  friends  as  best  he  could.  The  speech,  "  There's 
ne'er  a  villain  in  all  Denmark,"  was  followed  by  "  But  he's 
an  arrant  knave."  Why  should  he  trust  them  ?  His  con 
fidence  in  all  earthly  things  was  shaken.  He  had  heard 
"  the  secrets  of  the  prison-house,"  "  the  eternal  blazon  that 
must  not  be  to  ears  of  flesh  and  blood."  It  was  fitting  that 
he  should  beg  them  to  overmaster  their  curiosity  as  best 
they  could,  and  shake  hands  and  part  "  without  more  cir 
cumstance  at  all."  "The  time  was  out  of  joint,"  and  he 
alone  was  called  upon  "  to  set  it  right." 

But,  alas !  the  tragical  end  that  awaited  him  and  all  its 
accompanying  horrors.  The  meditative  and  thoughtful 
philosophy  of  his  disposition  unfitted  him  for  the  awful 


•96  STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE. 

duty  enjoined  upon  him  by  the  voice  from  the  unseen 
world.  It  was  an  act  of  vengeance  against  the  laws  of  the 
land,  to  be  justified  only  in  the  court  of  his  own  conscience, 
and  by  the  philosophy,  "There's  nothing  good  or  bad,  but 
thinking  makes  it  so  ; "  but  he  unhesitatingly  and  unshrink 
ingly  devoted  his  life  to  the  sacrifice. 


DAVID  GARRICK. 

DAVID  GARRICK  was  born  at  Hereford,  in  1716.  He 
Jived  during  one  of  the  most  interesting  periods  in  the 
history  of  English  literature.  His  father  was  a  captain  in 
the  English  army,  but  settled  at  Litchfield  on  half-pay,  with 
the  hope  of  being  able  to  support  his  family.  All  his  efforts 
in  this  direction  were  fruitless.  He  experienced  the  severest 
trials  of  poverty.  He  was  compelled  to  join  his  regiment 
again  in  1731,  in  order  to  relieve  distress.  His  wife,  poor 
dear,  faithful  creature,  broken  in  health  and  spirits,  under 
took  the  care  of  a  family  of  seven  children.  We  cannot 
attempt  to  describe  her  suffering  during  the  absence  of  her 
husband.  She  loved  him  with  a  devotion  not  of  earth,  but 
of  some  purer  realm.  In  the  midst  of  trouble  and  sickness 
and  distress,  she  ever  looked  forward  to  a  bright  and  happy 
future,  when  no  cloud  should  darken  the  threshold  of  her 
happy  home.  The  words  of  comfort  she  sent  to  the  absent 
husband  and  father  unlock  all  the  portals  of  the  heart 
capable  of  being  moved  by  words  of  sympathy  and  love. 
"  I  must  tell  my  dear  life  and  soul,"  she  writes,  in  a  letter 
breathing  the  tenderest  vow  of  affection,  and  which  a 
reviewer  says  reads  like  a  bit  of  Thackeray  or  Sterne, 
"  that  I  am  not  able  to  live  any  longer  without  him,  for  I 
grow  very  jealous.  But  in  the  midst  of  all  this  I  do  not 
blame  my  dear.  I  have  very  sad  dreams  for  you,  but  I 
have  the  pleasure  when  I  am  up  to  think  were  I  with  you, 
5 


98  STUDIES  IN  'LITER A  TURE. 

how  tender  my  dear  would  be  to  me  —  nay,  was  when  I 
was  with  you  last.  Oh,  that  I  had  you  in  my  arms !  I 
would  tell  my -dear  life  how  much  I  am  his." 

How  slowly  the  time  passed  !  Only  two  years  were 
gone  —  three  more  were  to  elapse  before  they  were  to  be 
together  again.  O  cruel  fate !  why  is  it  that  the  records 
of  loved  and  loving  hearts  are  so  often  written  in  tears  and 
blood?  The  husband  returned  at  last,  but  only  to  die  in 
the  arms  of  his  fond  and  faithful  wife.  It  is  almost 
unnecessary  to  add  that  in  less  than  one  year  her  troubled 
soul  too  was  at  rest. 

In  early  youth  GARRICK  displayed  extraordinary  talent 
for  acting.  When  eleven  years  of  age  he  acted  in  a  play 
entitled  "  The  Recruiting  Officer,"  and  received  no  little 
applause  from  a  select  audience.  In  1728  he  went  to  Lis 
bon  to  visit  a  wealthy  uncle,  and  while  at  his  .V*use  often 
amused  dinner  parties  by  the  recitation  of  poems  and 
speeches.  He  would  then  have  adopted  the  profession  of 
an  actor,  but  his  family  had  a  great  prejudice  against  the 
stage,  and  his  kind  and  gentle  and  affectionate  disposition 
would  not  allow  him  to  do  aught  that  would  add  to  their 
displeasure. 

At  eighteen  he  was  one  of  the  three  pupils  at  Dr.  John 
son's  "  Academy."  A  few  years  afterward  he  went  to  Lon 
don  in  company  with  his  teacher.  The  latter  described 
their  pecuniary  condition  by  saying  that  one  had  but  two 
pence  half-penny  in  his  pocket,  and  the  other  three  half 
pence  in  his.  Johnson  doubtless  endeavored  to  make 
sport  of  their  condition,  but  it  is  certain  that  their  means 
were  indeed  limited. 

GARRICK  tried  his  fortune  as  a  wine  merchant,  with 
indifferent  success.  Foote,  the  author  of  the  popular  farce 
on  Taste,  and  one  of  the  wittiest  as  well  as  one  of  the 
meanest  of  men,  used  to  say  that  he  recollected  GARRICK 


DAVID  GARRICK. 


99 


calling  himself  a  wine  merchant  with  but  three  quarts  of 
vinegar  in  his  cellar. 

GARRICK  attended  the  theatres  of  London  constantly, 
and  in  1740  had  made  some  reputation  as  a  dramatic  critic 
and  as  an  elocutionist.  In  1741  he  made  his  first  appear 
ance  as  an  actor  at  Ipswich.  A  few  months  later  he  played 
Richard  III.  before  a  London  audience.  His  reputation 
was  at  once  secured.  His  fame  spread  rapidly  throughout 
the  country.  The  beau  monde  of  London  vied  with  one 
another  in  doing  him  homage.  He  was  everywhere  admired 
and  praised.  He  was  dined,  wined  and  feasted,  not  only 
by  people  of  fashion,  but  by  the  greatest  authors,  lawyers 
and  statesmen.  He  won  the  friendship  of  Burke,  of  Pitt, 
and  of  Lyttleton,  of  Reynolds  and  Goldsmith.  Leonidas 
Glover  called  to  see  him  every  day.  Even  the  bard  of 
Twickenham,  now  old  and  feeble  and  ill  in  health,  left  his 
home  to  see  him.  The  London  press  teemed  with  the 
most  enthusiastic  eulogies  upon  his  wonderful  gifts.  •  The 
Post  declared  him  to  be  the  most  extraordinary  man  ever 
known.  The  history  of  the  stage  was  searched  in  vain  for 
a  parallel.  He  had  totally  eclipsed  the  fame  of  Booth,  and 
Quin,  and  Betterton.  The  Duke  of  Argyle  could  not  find 
language  extravagant  enough  to  praise  him.  The  cynical 
Walpole  said  that  he  was  the  greatest  actor  that  ever  lived, 
either  in  tragedy  or  comedy.  Even  Bishop  Newton  wrote 
to  him,  "  I  have  seen  your  Richard,  Chamont,  Bayes,  and 
Lear.  I  never  saw  four  actors  more  different  from  one 
another  than  you  are  from  yourself."  Macklin,  who  dis 
liked  him,  and  who  struggled  to  rival  him,  thus  spoke  of 
his  Lear,  "  The  curse  was  particularly  grand.  It  seemed 
to  electrify  the  audience  with  horror.  The  words  '  Kill ! 
kill !  kill  ! '  echoed  all  the  revenge  of  a  frantic  king." 
Everything  he  played  added  to  his  reputation.  There  was 
something  almost  idolatrous  about  the  honors  shown  him. 


j  oo  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

He  was  looked  upon  "  less  with  admiration  than  wonder." 
Though  small  in  stature,  he  awed  every  one  who  beheld 
him  with  the  majesty  of  his  appearance.  Johnson,  who 
had  no  appreciation  whatever  of  acting,  at  one  time  pre 
tended  to  dislike  him,  but  would  never  allow  any  one  else 
to  speak  ill  of  him.  When  GARRICK  suggested  some 
changes  in  the  tragedy  of  "  Irene,"  "  Sir,"  said  Johnson,  "  the 
fellow  wants  me  to  make  Mahomet  run  mad,  that  he  may 
have  an  opportunity  of  tossing  his  head  and  kicking  his 
heels."  At  another  time  he  spoke  of  him  "  as  a  fellow  who 
claps  a  hump  on  his  back  and  a  lump  on  his  leg,  and  cries, 
*  I  am  Richard  III.' ':  Even  Boswell  confesses  that  Johnson 
was  jealous  of  the  fame  of  GARRICK,  and  that  it  was  incom 
prehensible  to  him  that  an  actor's  art  should  be  esteemed 
so  highly.  Johnson,  however,  was  either  too  conscientious, 
or  had  too  high  a  regard  for  the  opinion  of  others,  not  to 
acknowledge  him  the  greatest  actor  he  had  ever  seen. 

But  notwithstanding  the  many  epithets  Johnson  applied 
to  GARRICK,  he  offered  to  write  his  life,  wept  the  bitterest 
tears  at  his  funeral,  and  afterwards  spoke  of  his  death  as 
an  "event  that  had  eclipsed  the  gaiety  of  nations."  He 
took  leave  of  the  stage  in  1776,  in  the  part  of  Don  Felix, 
in  the  comedy  of  "  Wonder."  He  was  greeted  by  a  dis 
tinguished  and  an  enthusiastic  audience.  His  farewell 
address  was  eloquent  and  affecting  in  the  extreme,  and 
moved  his  hearers  to  tears.  He  died  in  1779,  and  was 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey,  near  the  monument  of 
Shakspeare. 

Few  persons  have  been  more  distinguished  for  domestic 
and  social  virtues  than  this  great  actor.  He  was  kind,  and 
gentle,  and  charitable.  He  was  on  terms  of  intimacy  with 
nearly  all  the  great  men  of  his  time.  He  was  ever  ready 
to  assist,  both  with  his  purse  and  with  his  sympathy,  every 
deserving  person  who  applied  to  him.  There  was  but  one 


DAVID  GARRICK.  101 

thin£  about  him  that  we  do  not  love  to    think  of.     We 

o 

allude  to  his  unworthy  attachment  to  the  beautiful  but 
frail  Peg  Woffington.  She  was  a  fine  actress,  and  pos 
sessed  the  rarest  gifts  for  the  appreciation  of  excellence 
and  merit  in  others.  She  was  a  brilliant  talker,  and 
charmed  all  who  drew  near  her  with  her  quick,  ready 
wit,  and  sparkling  humor.  She  could  portray  a  fine  lady 
to  perfection.  In  such  characters  as  Millamant  and  Lady 
Townley  she  reigned  without  a  rival.  She  sprang  from 
the  lowest  dregs  of  society.  She  had  been  actually  picked 
up  out  of  the  streets  of  Dublin,  crying  "  half-penny  salads." 
She  has  been  described  as  a  dazzling  creature,  with  a  head 
of  beautiful  form,  perched  like  a  bird  upon  a  throat  mas 
sive,  yet  shapely,  and  smooth  as  a  column  of  alabaster, 
with  dark  eyes  full  of  fire  and  tenderness,  a  delicious 
mouth  with  a  hundred  varying  expressions,  and  that  mar 
velous  faculty  of  giving  beauty  alike  to  love  or  scorn,  a 
sneer  or  a  smile.  But  with  all  her  graces  of  mind  and 
person,  she  lacked  constancy  and  fidelity.  She  professed 
to  care  only  for  the  society  of  gentlemen,  and  often  said 
that  women  talked  of  nothing  but  silks  and  scandal.  She 
is  said  to  have  played  the  character  of  Sir  Harry  Wildair 
even  better  than  GARRICK.  The  latter  refused  to  compete 
with  her  in  it,  and  abandoned  the  part  wholly  to  her.  On 
one  occasion  she  was  so  pleased  .with  the  applause  she 
received  in  this  character,  that  she  ran  from  the  stage  into 
the  green-room,  and  exclaimed,  "  By  Jove !  I  believe  one- 
half  the  audience  think  I  am  a  man."  To  which  Quin 
replied,  "  Madam,  the  other  half,  then,  have  the  best  rea 
son  of  knowing  to  the  contrary." 

GARRICK  at  one  time  thought  of  marrying  her,  but  his 
better  nature  triumphed  over  this  folly. 

He  was  a  singularly  pure-hearted  man,  a  profound 
scholar,  and  was  versed  in  an  infinite  variety  of  know- 


I  o  2  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

ledge,  both  of  a  literary  and  scientific  character.  All  his 
contributions  to  literature,  his  poems,  his  verses,  his  pro 
logues,  his  farces,  and  his  dramatic  criticisms,  were  written 
with  more  than  average  ability.  Many  of  his  epigrams, 
such  as  the  one  upon  Goldsmith,  will  live  as  long  as  the 
language  is  spoken.  He  was  wholly  free  from  envy  and 
jealousy.  No  language  is  sufficiently  strong  to  describe  his 
affection  for  his  wife.  She  has  herself  said  that  he  was 
more  of  a  lover  to  her  than  a  husband.  Her  devotion  to 
him  was  almost  unequaled.  During  the  thirty  years  of 
their  married  life  they  were  never  one  day  apart.  She  was 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  accomplished  women  of  her 
time. 

She  came  from  Vienna.  She  had  been  a  dancer  in  the 
theatre.  She  brought  letters  of  recommendation  from  the 
Empress  Theresa,  who  thought  her  too  beautiful  to  remain 
near  the  court  of  Francis  I.  In  crossing  the  ocean  in  a 
ship  from  Helvoet  to  Harwich,  she  was  dressed  in  male 
attire,  and  was  taken  for  a  young  German  Baron.  During 
the  voyage  her  conduct  was  modest  and  becoming.  Indeed, 
it  could  not  be  otherwise,  for,  like  Shakspeare's  Rosalind, 
she  had  "  no  hose  and  doublet  in  her  disposition."  Her 
name  was  Eva  Maria  Veigel,  and  her  friends  called  her 
*'  the  beautiful  Violette."  She  had  little  difficulty  in  win 
ning  her  way  into  fashionable  society  with  her  virtue,  grace, 
beauty,  naivete,  and  brilliant  accomplishments.  The  Coun 
tess  of  Burlington  took  her  to  live  with  her,  and  gave  her 
on  the  occasion  of  her  marriage  a  dowry  of  .£5,000. 

Foote,  who  scarcely  ever  spoke  well  of  any  one,  wrote  to 
GARRICK  in  1776  :  — 

"  It  has  been  my  misfortune  not  to  know  Mrs.  GARRICK, 
but  from  what  I  have  seen  and  all  I  have  heard,  you  will 
have  more  to  regret  when  either  she  or  you  die,  than  any 
man  in  the  kingdom." 


DAVID  GARRICK. 


103 


Wilkes  called  her  the  "  first  woman  in  England,"  and 
Churchill  "  the  most  agreeable  one."  Gibbon  said  that  she 
possessed  a  secret  more  valuable  than  the  philosopher's 
stone,  that  of  gaining  the  hearts  of  all  those  who  had  the 
happiness  of  knowing  her. 

Hogarth  painted  their  pictures  in  1772,  just  two  years 
after  their  marriage.  It  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful,  life 
like,  and  interesting  of  the  author's  productions.  Even  the 
ordinary  engraving  taken  from  it  has  a  delicacy,  a  freshness, 
and  a  beauty  which  we  seldom  see  in  the  most  carefully 
elaborated  works  of  art. 

We  look  at  it  involuntarily  with  the  devotion  of  an  enthu 
siast.  There  is  something  about  it  that  speaks  at  once  to 
the  heart,  to  the  feelings,  and  to  the  understanding.  The 
spirit  of  truth,  of  consciousness,  and  beauty  breathes 
around  it. 

This  picture  is  known  to  every  one.  It  portrays  GARRICK 
in  the  act  of  composition.  His  countenance  displays  the 
deepest  thought.  His  Violette,  the  best  and  truest  of  wives, 
is  just  behind  him,  ready  to  steal  the  pen  from  his  hand, 
She  is  weary  of  his  being  "lost  in  thought  —  wrapt  withal." 
She  has  the  utmost  confidence  in  his  genius,  and  seems  to 
feel  that  he  has  written  enough  to  immortalise  him,  and 
that  it  is  time  for  the  inspiration  to  be  dispelled,  that  she 
may  tell  him  with  love's  own  voice  how  dear  he  is  to  her. 

Mrs.  GARRICK  survived  her  husband  forty-three  years. 
For  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  she  would  not  allow 
any  one  to  enter  the  sacred  precincts  of  his  darkened  room. 
She  died  in  1822,  loved  and  honored  to  the  last.  After 
such  devotion,  we  need  not  wonder  that  every  one  who 
knew  them  was  struck  with  the  beautiful  oneness  of  their 
lives. 


THACKERAY, 

WITH   A  GLANCE  AT  VANITY   FAIR. 

THE  leading  magazines  and  periodicals  of  Europe  and 
of  this  country  have  within  the  last  few  years  been  filled 
with  essays  and  criticisms  upon  the  life  and  genius  of 
THACKERAY.  One  class  of  his  admirers  proclaim  him  to 
be  the  greatest  novelist  who  ever  lived,  and  another  the 
greatest  humorist  and  satirist.  As  a  critic  and  essayist  he 
has  been  placed  above  Goldsmith,  Macaulay,  Carlyle,  and 
Hazlitt.  His  poetry  is  said  to  be  as  good  as  Pope's  and 
Beranger's,  and  better  than  Suckling's,  or  Pryor's,  or  Gay's, 
or  Thomson's,  or  Southey's.  The  "  Chronicle  of  the  Drum," 
"The  Cane-Bottomed  Chair,"  and  the  ballad  of  "Bouilla 
baisse,"  go  the  rounds  of  the  press  as  if  written  but  yester 
day.  His  epigrams  and  witty  repartees  speak  volumes  of 
sentiment.  Not  a  few  of  his  novels  have  passed  into 
history. 

The  characters  in  "  Vanity  Fair,"  in  "  Pendennis,"  in  the 
"Virginians,"  in  "Esmond,"  and  in  the  "Newcomes,"  are 
not  only  distinct  and  palpable  creations,  but  are  discussed 
and  talked  about  like  living  human  beings  of  flesh  and 
blood. 

Nearly  everything  he  has  written  is  tremulous  with 
thought  and  emotion.  He  seems  ever  to  display  the 
keenest  perception  of  truth,  of  beauty,  and  wisdom.  His 


THACKERAY. 


105 


tenacious  and  penetrating  intellect,  his  depths  of  sympathy 
and  consciousness,  his  mingled  gayety  and  earnestness  of 
sentiment,  and  his  subtle  attractiveness  of  manner,  are  not 
surpassed  by  Scott,  or  Bulwer,  or  Dickens.  He  began  his 
literary  career  at  Cambridge,  in  1829,  by  editing  a  series 
of  papers  called  "  The  Snob ;  a  Literary  and  Scientific 
Journal."  In  these  papers  he  made  some  attempt  at  wit 
and  humor,  by  committing  droll  errors  in  orthography  and 
by  aggrandising  insignificant  things.  He  soon  became  a 
contributor  to  the  London  press  and  to  Frasers  Magazine. 
He  wrote  for  the  latter  "  Fitzboodle's  Confessions,"  the 
"Fatal  Boots,"  and  the  "  Hoggarty  Diamond."  These 
efforts  displayed  talent  of  no  common  order,  but  attracted 
very  little  attention.  He  struggled  almost  ineffectually 
through  weary  years  of  obscurity,  of  neglect,  and  hardship, 
before  he  derived  any  reputation  or  profit  from  his  labors. 
His  greatest  work,  VANITY  FAIR,  had  been  rejected  by 
several  magazines,  and  he  was  compelled  to  publish  it  in 
monthly  numbers  after  the  fashion  of  Dickens'  stories.  Its 
success  was  at  first  doubted,  but  before  it  was  completed  he 
became  known  as  one  of  the  ablest  writers  of  his  time. 
VANITY  FAIR  presents  a  dreary  picture  of  life,  but,  for  aught 
we  know,  a  true  one.  The  characters  that  figure  in  it  are 
drawn,  not  from  the  imagination,  but  from  observation  and 
experience.  It  is  a  pity  that  such  villains  as  Lord  Steyne 
exist  in  the  world,  but  certainly  the  author  is  entitled  to 
much  credit  for  portraying  them.  We  have  met  in  real  life 
an  exact  prototype  of  the  weak  and  dissipated  Captain 
Crawley,  and  have  derived  no  little  satisfaction  from  the 
manner  in  which  we  have  been  taught  to  regard  him.  The 
resemblance  is  carried  so  far  that  he  never  wrote  home  in 
his  life  except  when  he  wanted  money,  and  then  his  letters 
were  full  of  dashes  and  bad  grammar,  and  doubtless  he 
spelled  *  beseech '  with  an  a,  and  '  earliest '  without  one.  We 
5* 


1 06  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

do  not  know  whether  or  not  he  is  capable  of  exhibiting 
the  same  kind  of  courage  that  Captain  Crawley  did  in  the 
encounter  with  Lord  Steyne,  but  we  are  quite  sure  that  he 
is  mean  enough  to  accept  favors  from  one  who  had  sought 
to  ruin  him.  The  good-natured  and  reckless  spendthrift, 
George  Osborne,  is  a  perfectly  natural  creation.  So  is 
also  the  vain  and  fat  Joseph  Sedley.  The  power,  beauty, 
and  interest  of  the  story,  however,  cluster  around  the 
heroine,  Becky  Sharp.  She  is  the  most  original,  wonder 
ful,  and  varied  of  all  the  author's  creations.  She  is  a 
perfect  type  of  a  class  of  bold,  ambitious,  cunning,  in 
triguing,  and  selfish  women.  All  the  other  characters  in 
the  book,  wonderfully  natural  and  life-like  as  they  are, 
become,  when  brought  in  contact  with  her,  but  supernu 
merary  beings,  or,  as  it  were,  mere  auxiliaries  for  the  purpose 
of  aiding  in  the  development  of  the  circumstances  by  which 
she  is  surrounded.  She  is  constantly  presenting  some  new 
phase  in  humanity,  or  illustrating  some  great  lesson  in  moral 
and  ethical  philosophy.  Whenever  "she  made  a  little  circle 
for  herself  with  incredible  toils  and  labor,  somebody  came 
and  swept  it  down  rudely,  and  she  had  all  her  work  to 
begin  over  again."  All  her  powers  of  fascination,  her 
artful  appeals  for  sympathy,  her  exclamation,  "  Poor  little 
me ! "  her  wit,  her  beauty,  her  grace,  ease  and  abandon,  her 
archness  and  simplicity  of  manner,  and  girlish  lightness  of 
sentiment,  fail  to  soften  the  dark  shades  of  her  character, 
or  make  us  wish  for  her  a  better  fate.  She  neglects  her 
child,  and  lives  only  for  the  gratification  of  the  meanest  and 
lowest  desires.  She  sells  her  virtue  without  even  having 
the  excuse  of  love  or  passion.  THACKERAY  was  in  his 
element  when  he  conceived  and  portrayed  her.  He  has 
done  nothing  else  half  so  well.  With  all  our  admiration 
for  his  genius,  we  must  confess  that  he  delineates  the 
character  of  a  depraved  being  a  thousand  times  better 
than  he  does  that  of  a  good  one. 


THACKERAY.  107 

He  has  a  terrible  insight  into  the  hearts  of  frivolous  and 
intriguing  women.  He  is  almost  enthusiastic  in  his  descrip 
tions  of  their  base  and  ignoble  passions.  He  not  only 
describes  their  meanness,  their  spitefuiness,  their  jealousy, 
and  their  selfishness,  with  painful  minuteness,  but  actually 
rips  them  to  pieces.  It  is  believed 'that  he  could  not  por 
tray  a  good  woman  at  all.  He  attempted  it  in  Ethel  New- 
come  and  in  Amelia  Sedley,  two  of  his  most  prominent 
characters,  and  utterly  failed.  He  made  one  a  flirt  and 
the  other  a  fool.  He  has  not  escaped  censure  for  such 
sermons  as  the  following  in  VANITY  FAIR  and  the  "  New- 
comes"  :  — 

"  I  know  few  things  more  affecting  than  that  timorous 
debasement  and  self-humiliation  of  a  woman.  How  she 
owns  it  is  she  and  not  the  man  who  is  guilty !  How  she 
takes  all  the  faults  on  her  side  !  How  she  courts  in  a 
manner  punishment  for  the  wrongs  which  she  has  not  com 
mitted,  and  persists  in  shielding  the  real  culprit.  It  is 
those  who  injure  women  who  get  the  most  kindness  from 
them.  They  are  born  timid  and  tyrants,  and  maltreat 
those  who  are  humblest  before  them." 

"  To  coax,  to  flatter  and  befool  some  one  is  every 
woman's  business ;  she  is  none  if  she  declines  this  office. 
But  men  are  not  provided  with  such  powers  of  humbug  or 
endurance.  They  perish  and  pine  away  miserably  when 
bored,  or  they  shrink  off  to  the  club  or  public-house  for 
comfort." 

The  closing  scenes  in  VANITY  FAIR,  in  which  Becky 
Sharp's  vagabond  career  is  described,  are  beyond  all  ques 
tion  the  finest  in  the  book.  THACKERAY  was  evidently  a 
man  of  the  world  —  an  observer  rather  than  a  philosopher. 
He  studied  men  and  things  more  than  he  did  books,  or  else 
he  could  not  have  pictured  so  vividly  Joseph  Sedley,  creak 
ing  and  puffing  up  the  stairs  which  led  above  the  rooms 


1 08  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

occupied  by  gamblers,  small  tradesmen,  peddlers,  and 
Bohemian  vaulters  and  tumblers,  "  to  where  Becky  had 
found  a  little  nest,  as  dirty  a  little  refuge  as  ever  beauty 
lay  hid  in."  The  scene  where  the  Dutch  student,  with  the 
whitey-brown  ringlets  and  large  finger-ring,  is  bawling  at  the 
key-hole,  while  the  gentleman  from  Bengal  is  approaching, 
is  inimitable.  Becky  opens  the  door  to  see  who  is  coming, 
and  in  an  instant  puts  a  rouge-pot,  a  brandy-bottle,  and  a 
plate  of  broken  meat  into  the  bed,  gives  a  smooth  to  her 
hair,  and  lets  in  her  visitor.  Poor  Joseph  deserved  to  be 
wheedled  by  a  woman  who  could  sit  upon  a  brandy-bottle, 
and  play  the  coquette  with  rouge  up  to  her  eye-lids  and  a 
handkerchief  of  torn  and  faded  lace.  "  She  never  was 
Lady  Crawley,  though  she  continued  so  to  call  herself." 

But  we  close  the  book.  If  the  author  has  not  portrayed 
life  as  it  ought  to  be,  he  has  painted  it  as  it  really  is. 
The  lesson  inculcated  by  exhibiting  the  awful  and  fearful 
consequences  of  placing  the  moral  in  subordination  to  the 
intellectual  being,  cannot  easily  be  forgotten. 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 

THIS  play  was  originally  called  "Love's  Labor  Won." 
It  is  not  known  why  or  by  whom  the  title  was  changed. 
Meares,  a  contemporary  of  SHAKSPEARE,  speaks  of  "  Love's 
Labor  Won  "  as  being  among  the  best  of  SHAKSPEARE'S 
comedies.  He  doubtless  alludes  to  this  play,  for  there  is 
IK)  other  of  the  author's  dramas  to  which  the  title  is  appli 
cable.  Moreover,  there  are  several  passages  in  the  text  in 
which  allusions  are  made  to  its  original  name.  In  the  fifth 
act  Helena  says  to  Bertram  :  — 

"This  is  done  ; 
"Will  you  be  mine  now  —  you  are  doubly  won  ?  " 

And  again  we  have  — 

"  The  King's  a  beggar,  now  the  play  is  done ; 
All  is  well  ended  if  this  suit  be  won." 

Coleridge  describes  this  drama  as  the  counterpart  of 
"Love's  Labor  Lost,"  and  expresses  the  opinion  that  it  was 
written  at  two  different  and  distant  periods  of  the  poet's 
life,  and  points  out  two  distinct  styles,  not  only  of  thought, 
but  of  expression.  Evidently  its  chief  purpose  is  to  depict 
the  labor  of  love,  or  the  triumphs  of  love,  over  the  most 
untoward  circumstances.  The  following  speech  of  Helena 
beautifully  illustrates  the  unwavering  and  self-confident 
power  of  this  absorbing  passion  :  — 

"  Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
Which  we  ascribe  to  Heaven  ;  the  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope ;  only  doth  backward  pull 


HO  £  TUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

Our  slow  designs,  when  we  ourselves  are  dull. 
What  power  is  it  which  mounts  my  love  so  high, 
That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye  ? 
The  mightiest  space  in  fortune,  nature  brings 
To  join  like  likes  and  kiss  like  native  things. 
Impossible  be  strange  attempts  to  those 
That  weigh  their  pains  in  sense,  and  do  suppose 
What  hath  been  cannot  be.     Whoever  strove 
To  show  her  merit  that  did  miss  her  love  ? " 

The  plot,  like  that  of  "  Cymbeline,"  is  taken  from  Boc 
caccio.  With  the  single  exception  of  the  story  of  Zeneura, 
it  is  unquestionably  the  best  in  the  Decameron. 

The  heroine,  Giletta  de  Narbonne,  is  the  daughter  of 
a  distinguished  physician  at  the  court  of  Roussilon,  in 
France.  When  but  a  child  she  falls  in  love  with  a  hand 
some  youth,  Count  Beltram  de  Roussilon,  with  whom  she 
was  brought  up.  His  father's  death  obliged  him  to  go  to 
Paris.  Giletta  was  almost  inconsolable  during  his  absence, 
and  anxiously  awaited  some  pretext  to  go  thither  to  see 
him.  Her  hand,  the  author  tells  us,  was  sought  in  marriage 
by  many  on  whom  her  guardian  would  willingly  have 
bestowed  her,  but  she  rejects  them  all  without  assigning 
any  reason.  She  receives  intelligence  that  the  King  is 
suffering  from  a  painful  and  dangerous  disease,  which  had 
baffled  the  skill  of  the  ablest  physicians  of  the  land.  She 
suddenly  conceives  the  idea  of  going  to  Paris  with  the  hope 
of  curing  him  with  one  of  her  father's  prescriptions.  Her 
plans  are  soon  put  in  execution.  The  King  receives  her 
with  the  utmost  kindness,  and  promises  her,  if  she  succeeds 
in  conquering  his  disease,  to  bestow  her  in  marriage  on  a 
person  of  noble  birth.  Through  her  skill  he  is  completely 
restored  to  health,  and  she  claims  the  hand  of  her  playmate 
and  early  love,  Count  Beltram  de  Roussilon.  The  Count 
at  first  rejects  her  offer  of  marriage  with  scorn  and  con 
tempt,  but  finally  consents  to  the  union  in  obedience  to  the 


ALLS  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 

wishes  of  his  sovereign.  He  deserts  her  upon  the  day  of 
the  wedding,  and  engages  in  the  war  of  the  Florentines 
against  the  Senesi. 

Giletta  does  everything  in  her  power  to  win  his  love 
and  esteem,  and  to  induce  him  to  return  to  his  home. 
Her  conduct  is  indeed  exemplary.  Her  subjects  almost 
worship  her  for  her  queenly  dignity,  modesty,  beauty,  pru 
dence,  virtue,  and  wisdom.  These  excellences  make  no 
impression  whatever  upon  her  husband,  who  refuses  to 
return  to  her  only  on  the  seemingly  impossible  conditions 
that  she  shall  bear  him  a  son,  and  obtain  possession  of  a 
ring  which  he  always  wears  upon  his  finger.  Love  is  too 
deeply  enthroned  in  her  bosom  to  allow  her  to  despair. 
She  disguises  herself  as  a  pilgrim,  and  goes  to  Florence, 
where  she  learns  that  the  Count  is  making  improper  over 
tures  to  a  lady  of  that  city.  She  becomes  acquainted  with 
her,  and,  through  her,  obtains  possession  of  the  ring.  She 
also  induces  her  to  make  an  assignation  with  him,  in  which 
she  supplies  her  place.  Giletta  gives  birth  to  two  sons,  and 
the  Count,  on  learning  her  stratagem,  is  confounded  with 
love  and  admiration,  and  lives  with  her  ever  afterward 
with  great  joy  and  happiness. 

The  principal  incidents  in  the  story  are  followed  with 
wonderful  minuteness  and  fidelity  in  the  drama.  The  poet 
changed  the  name  of  Giletta  to  Helena,  and  Beltram  to 
Bertram. 

Hazlitt,  whose  love  for  SHAKSPEARE  is  almost  idolatrous, 
and  who  indeed  openly  confesses  his  idolatry,  says  that  the 
poet  dramatised  Boccaccio's  novel  "with  great  skill  and 
comic  effects,  and  preserved  all  the  beauty  of  the  charac 
ter  and  sentiment  without  improving  upon  it  —  which  was 
impossible." 

This  praise  is  perhaps  too  extravagant,  though  it  is  diffi 
cult  to  imagine  anything  finer  in  the  way  of  a  story  than 


112 


STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 


Boccaccio's,  for  it  is  told  with  the  utmost  simplicity,  sweet 
ness,  and  pathos.  But  SHAKSPEARE  has,  we  think,  im 
proved  it  by  elaborating  the  incidents,  and  by  adorning  it 
with  new  creations,  and  developing  the  individual  beauty 
of  the  heroine.  Indeed,  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  The 
truth  is,  that  SHAKSPEARE'S  genius  consecrates  everything 
it  touches.  He  carries  the  world  along  with  him,  and 
whenever  an  object  pleases  him,  he  gives  it  a  new  life  and 
beauty.  A  power  mightier  than  Nature's  seems  ever  to  be 
unbosoming  its  secrets  to  him.  It  is  impossible  to  describe 
his  soft  and  delicate  fancy,  or  the  breadth  and  clearness 
of  his  vision  ;  for  he  sees  all  things  as  far  as  angels' 
ken.  Everything  about  him  is  subtle,  wonderful,  and  mag 
ical.  He  gives  even  "  to  airy  nothing  a  local  habitation 
and  a  name."  All  his  creations  are  symbols  of  truth  and 
moral  beauty.  They  address  every  feeling  of  humanity, 
every  sentiment  and  passion.  He  bestows  grace  and 
dignity  upon  the  most  common-place  subjects,  and  they 
become  ever  afterward  objects  of  delight  and  reverence. 

His  female  characters  have  an  irresistible  charm  about 
them  for  which  we  may  look  in  vain  for  a  parallel  else 
where.  His  Helena  is  a  pure  effusion  of  genius.  She  is 
the  very  apotheosis  of  womanhood.  She  is  not  only  a 
maid  too  virtuous  for  the  contempt  of  empire,  but  the 
most  perfect  ideal  of  a  wife.  Our  thoughts  refer  to  her 
again  and  again,  and  each  time  with  increasing  admiration 
and  delight.  The  depth  and  intensity  of  her  love,  and  the 
refinement  and  purity  of  her  principles,  vibrate  with  every 
breeze  of  feeling.  Her  gentleness  and  resolution  are 
almost  equal  to  her  beauty,  and  she  is  described  as  one 

"  Whose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 

Of  richest  eyes,  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive  ; 
Whose  dear  perfection  hearts  that  scorned  to  serve, 
Humbly  called  mistress." 


ALLS  WELL   THAT  ENDS  WELL. 


"3 


She  is  placed  in  the  most  trying  situation,  and  surrounded 
by  the  most  degrading  circumstances.  In  her  the  ordi 
nary  rules  of  courtship  are  reversed.  She  is  compelled  to 
appear  herself  as  a  wooer,  and  to  court  her  lover  both  as 
a  maid  and  as  a  wife,  and  yet  she  does  not  violate  a  single 
law  of  modesty  or  propriety.  Her  combination  of  intellect 
and  passion  is  truly  wonderful.  Her  self-possession  never 
deserts  her.  She  is  ever  looking  forward  to  a  bright  ard 
happy  future.  She  seems  to  hope  even  against  hope,  and 
to  believe  when  faith  seems  fatuity.  What  could  be  finer 
than  her  description  of  her  love  for  Bertram,  who,  by  the 
laws  of  society,  is  placed  above  her  in  social  position  ? — 

"  My  imagination 

Carries  no  favor  in  it  but  my  Bertram's  ; 
I  am  undone  —  there  is  no  loving,  none, 
If  Bertram  be  away.     It  were  all  one 
That  I  should  love  a  b.ight  particular  star, 
And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me ;  • 
In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 
Must  I  be  comforted  not  in  his  sphere  ? 
Th'  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself; 
The  hind  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion 
Must  die  for  love." 

Poor  Helena,  true  to  the  instincts  of  her  sex,  has  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  her  own  merit.  When  she  cannot  win 
her  lord  to  look  upon  her,  she  thinks  it  is  because  she  is 
unworthy  of  him. 

Her  unwearied  patience  is  rewarded  at  last, 

• 

"  For  time  will  bring  on  summer, 
When  briars  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns, 
And  be  as  sweet  as  sharp." 

It  has  been  well  questioned  whether  Bertram  deserves 
her  unconquerable  faith  of  affection,  her  deep  and  lasting 
attachment.  Dr.  Johnson  describes  him  as  a  man  noble 
without  generosity,  and  young  without  truth.  He  con- 


1 1 4  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

demns  him,  as  well  as  he  may,  for  sneaking  home  to  a 
second  marriage,  and  defending  himself  with  falsehood 
against  his  wife's  accusations.  His  foolish  pride  of  birth 
seems  to  be  his  greatest  fault.  His  compulsory  marriage, 
"  being  compelled  to  submit  his  fancy  to  other  eyes,"  when 
the  ardor  and  impetuosity  of  his  youth  longed  for  freedom 
and  frowned  upon  restraint,  should,  we  think,  in  some 
measure,  extenuate  his  conduct.  Besides,  his  faults  seem 
absolutely  necessary  in  order  to  develop  Helena's  in 
tensity  of  passion,  and  strength  and  firmness  of  character. 
It  is  impossible  to  help  loving  the  Countess,  Helena's 
guardian.  She  is  a  living  and  an  essential  truth.  Mrs. 
Jameson  says,  "  She  is  like  one  of  Titian's  old  women,  who 
still  amid  their  wrinkles  remind  us  of  that  soul  of  beauty 
and  sensibility  which  must  have  animated  them  when 
young."  She  is  a  perfect  mistress  of  her  own  thoughts. 
The  rose  of  her  spirit  is  kept  bright  and  beautiful  to  the 
last.  Age  cannot  dull  her  sensibilities,  or  curb  even  for  a 
moment  the  sweet  and  gentle,  and  kind  and  generous, 
and  pure  and  holy  emotions  of  her  soul.  The  purity  of 
her  principles  and  her  self-forgetting  love  are  enough  to 
evoke  the  admiration  of  the  angels.  She  is  never  unmind 
ful  of  the  lessons  of  experience,  but  ever  cherishes  them 
as  sacred  treasures.  How  beautiful  are  her  reflections 
when  she  discovers  the  pangs  of  Helena's  unrequited  love  ! 
She  says: — 

"  Even  so  was  it  with  me  when  I  was  young. 
*  *  *        This  thorn 

Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong ; 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  Nature's  truth, 
When  love's  strong  passion  is  impressed  in  youth." 

The  witty  and  eccentric  Lord  Lafeu  is  a  very  charming 
character. 

Every  one  has  the  utmost  contempt  for  Parolles.     His 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL.  115 

impudence  and  poltroonery  are  disgusting  in  the  extreme. 
"  His  soul  is  in  his  clothes."  He  is,  in  every  sense  of  the 
word,  a  contemptible  "  pronoun  "  of  a  man.  Critics  may 
well  marvel  that  this  "  lump  of  counterfeit  ore  "  "  should 
know  what  he  is  and  be  what  he  is."  "  He  is  created  on 
purpose  for  men  to  breathe  themselves  upon."  He  is  "  a 
notorious  liar,"  "  a  great  way  fool,"  and  "  solely  a  coward  ; " 
and  yet  the  elements  of  wit  and  humor  are  so  mixed  in 
him  that  he  furnishes  us  with  an  inexhaustible  vein  of  mirth 
and  laughter. 


DREAMING. 

THE  subject  of  Dreaming  is  always  interesting.  It  is  too 
deeply  interwoven  with  philosophy  and  superstition  to 
be  otherwise  than  interesting.  Dugald  Stewart  defined 
Dreaming  to  be  a  series  of  thoughts  not  under  command  of 
reason,  or  that  condition  in  which  we  have  nearly  or  quite 
lost  all  volition  over  bodily  organs,  but  in  which  those 
mental  powers  retain  a  partial  degree  of  activity. 

It  has  been  said  that  though  the  power  of  volition  does 
not  seem  to  be  altogether  absent  in  sleep,  the  will  appears 
to  lose  its  influence  over  the  faculties  of  the  mind  and 
members  of  the  body,  which  during  our  waking  hours  are 
subject  to  its  authority. 

In  sleep  we  seem  to  experience  every  kind  of  emotion, 
and  at  times  our  reasoning  powers  appear  to  be  as  clear  as 
the  noonday  sun.  Spurzheim  and  Gall,  in  their  Physiog 
nomical  system,  affirm,  in  the  most  positive  manner,  that 
we  often  reason  better  when  dreaming  than  when  awake. 
Hazlitt,  however,  makes  a  good  deal  of  sport  of  this  theory, 
and  calls  it  a  fine  style  of  German  mysticism. 

It  is  generally  supposed  that  dreaming  is  an  evidence  of 
imperfect  sleep,  but  it  is  possible  that  the  state  of  sleep  is 
always  accompanied  by  dreams,  though  we  may  not  be  able 
to  remember  them. 

At  a  dinner  party  we  heard  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
authors  in  the  country  remark,  that  if  he  ever  dreamed  in 


DREAMING.  117 

his  life  he  did  not  know  it,  and  that  if  it  were  not  for  the 
positive  assertions  of  others,  he  would  be  forced  to  disbe 
lieve  in  dreams. 

Locke  relates  an  incident  of  a  gentleman  who  never 
dreamed  until  he  was  twenty-six  years  of  age,  when  he  had 
a  fever  and  dreamed  for  the  first  time. 

On  the  authority  of  Plutarch,  we  learn  that  Cleon  and 
Thrasymedes,  both  of  whom  lived  to  an  advanced  age, 
never  experienced  the  phenomenon  of  Dreaming.  Upham, 
in  his  Mental  Philosophy,  refuses  to  admit  the  possibility 
of  such  cases,  arguing  that  they  may  have  dreamed  and 
forgotten,  but  adds,  undoubtedly  such  persons  dream  very 
seldom.  Kant  inclines  to  the  same  opinion,  and  says  that 
those  who  fancy  they  have  not  dreamed,  have  forgotten 
their  dreams.  The  truth  is,  we  know  so  little  about  Dream 
ing  that  it  is  almost  useless  to  speculate  on  the  subject. 

Nearly  all  the  ancient  philosophers  and  moralists  believed 
in  the  Divine  or  spiritual  character  of  dreams.  Plato 
believed  that  all  dreams  could  be  trusted  when  the  body 
and  mind  are  in  a  healthy  condition.  The  sublimest  illus 
trations,  however,  of  the  prophetic  character  of  dreams  are 
found  in  the  Bible.  For  instance,  those  of  Saul,  Solomon, 
Abimelech,  and  Daniel,  in  the  Old  Testament,  and  those 
of  the  wise  men  of  the  East,  of  Joseph,  and  of  the  wife  of 
Pilate,  in  the  New  Testament.  The  following  passage  from 
the  Scriptures  seems  to  proclaim  the  prophetic  character 
of  dreams: — "In  slumbering  upon  the  bed,  God  openeth 
the  ears  of  men  and  sealeth  their  understanding." 

The  dream  of  Calphurnia  the  night  before  the  assassina 
tion  of  her  husband,  Julius  Caesar,  is  perhaps  the  most 
extraordinary  example  we  have  in  profane  history  of  this 
kind  of  dreaming. 

Columbus  dreamed  that  a  voice  said  to  him,  "  God  will 
give  to  thee  the  keys  of  the  gates  of  the  ocean." 


1 1 8  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

The  theory  that  dreams  are  but  the  continuation  of  our 
waking  thoughts  is  very  popular  in  Germany  and  France, 
and,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  savans  of  the 
latter  country  asserts  that  some  of  his  most  profound  and 
abstruse  calculations  were  left  in  an  unfinished  state,  and 
completed  in  his  dreams  after  he  had  went  to  bed.  While 
on  the  subject  of  the  relation  of  dreams  to  our  waking 
thoughts,  we  will  relate  Coleridge's  story  of  the  composition 
of  one  of  his  most  beautiful  poems,  "  Kubla  Khan." 

In  the  summer  of  1797,  Coleridge  retired  to  a  farm 
house  on  the  Exmoor  confines  of  Somerset  and  Devonshire. 
He  was  ill,  and  had  taken  an  anodyne.  He  fell  asleep  in 
his  chair. while  reading  the  following  lines  in  "  Purchas's  Pil 
grimage  "  :  — "  Here  the  Khan  Kubla  commanded  a  palace 
to  be  built,  and  a  stately  garden  thereunto,  and  thus  ten 
miles  of  fertile  ground  were  enclosed  with  a  wall." 

He  continued  to  sleep  very  profoundly  for  several 
hours,  during  which  he  composed  not  less  than  two  to 
three  hundred  lines  of  poetry.  On  waking  he  endeavored 
to  write  out  what  he  had  composed,  but  was  called  away 
on  business  just  as  he  had  written  that  part  of  the  poem 
he  has  given  us  in  his  published  works.  When  he  returned 
he  was  unable  to  finish  the  poem  j  but  what  he  wrote  ere 
the  charm  was  broken  contains  a  world  of  beauty. 

"  In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 

A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree, 
Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man, 

Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 
So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground, 
With  walls  and  towers  were  girded  round, 
And  there  were  gardens  bright  with  sinuous  rills, 

Where  blossomed  many  an  incense-bearing  tree, 
And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the  hills, 

Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery.  " 


DREAMING.  119 

Coleridge  then  pictures  a  wild,  romantic  chasm,  where 
huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding  hail,  amid  the 
tumult  of  which  Kubla  Khan  heard  from  afar, 

"  Ancestral. voices  prophesying  war." 

The  poem  concludes  with  a  description  of  a  dome  of 
pleasure,  in  which  an  Abyssinian  maid  sings  with  the 
sweetest  symphony  of  Mount  Abora. 

"  Singing  of  Mount  Abora. 
Could  I  revive  within  me 

Her  symphony  and  song, 
To  such  a  deep  delight  would  win  me, 

That  with  music  loud  and  long 
I  would  build  that  dome  in  air ; 

That  sunny  dome  !  those  caves  of  ice  !       • 
And  all  who  heard  should  see  them  there, 
And  all  should  cry,  Beware  !  Beware  ! 
His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair ; 

Weave  a  circle  around  him  thrice, 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread, 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed, 

And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise." 

One  of  the  most  singular  things  connected  with  Dream 
ing  is  the  rapidity  with  which  time  seems  to  pass  while  in 
that  state. 

Dr.  Carpenter  relates  an  incident  of  a  clergyman  falling 
asleep  in  his  pulpit  during  the  singing  of  a  psalm  before 
the  sermon,  and  awaking  with  the  conviction  that  he  must 
have  slept  for  at  least  an  hour,  and  that  the  congregation 
had  been  waiting  for  him,  but  on  referring  to  his  book  he 
was  consoled  by  finding  that  his  slumber  had  lasted  only 
during  the  singing  of  a  single  line. 

The  apparent  reality  of  dreams  has  often  occasioned 
many  ridiculous  blunders  in  leading  persons  to  relate  their 
dreams  as  actual  occurrences.  One  of  the  most  religious 
and  truthful  men  we  ever  knew  on  one  occasion  assured 
us  that  he  had  traveled  in  Russia,  when  we  were  satisfied 
that  he  had  scarcely  been  outside  of  the  confines  of  the 


!  2 o  STL' DiES  IN  L17EKA  7  L'RE. 

neighborhood  in  which  he  lived.  We  have  also  heard  a 
distinguished  professor  in  a  leading  medical  college  of 
Kentucky  say  that  he  had  dreamed  so  much  about  the 
catacombs  at  Paris  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  tell 
whether  he  had  actually  visited  them  or  not.  This,  how 
ever,  is  not  so  bad  as  the  story  of  the  man  who  dreamed 
that  his  head  had  been  cut  off,  and  refused  to  believe  other 
wise  until  allowed  the  privilege  of  looking  at  himself  in 
the  glass.  However,  none  of  these  examples  are  any  more 
extraordinary  than  a  dream  of  our  own  which  we  will 
relate. 

A  few  years  ago,  after  a  severe  and  continued  spell  of 
sickness,  we  dreamed  that  we  had  received  a  letter  from  a 
friend  in  Europe.  It  was  written  at  Geneva.  The  scenery 
of  the  surrounding  country  was  glowingly  described. 
Nearly  all  the  famous  names  in  history  with  which  this 
romantic  place  is  associated,  including  those  of  Gibbon, 
De  Stael,  Necker,  Kemble,  Rousseau,  and  Voltaire,  were 
recalled  and  commented  upon  with  singular  clearness  and 
beauty.  We  had  the  most  vivid  impression  of  reading  the 
letter  over  and  over  again,  and  of  putting  it  in  the  drawer 
of  our  writing-desk,  with  the  intention  of  perusing  it  again 
after  breakfast.  On  waking  the  impression  was  not  dis 
pelled.  It  became  for  a  time  an  actual  event  in  life,  as 
palpable  to  the  senses  as  what  we  feel  and  touch. 

We  were  mortified  beyond  endurance  an  hour  or  two 
afterwards,  when  we  related  the  supposed  fact  of  having 
received  the  letter  to  a  friend,  who  informed  us  that  the 
gentleman  had  not  gone  to  Europe,  but  contemplated  doing 
so  in  the  course  of  a  few  months. 

Fortunately,  however,  we  are  not  often  troubled  with  the 
difficulty  of  being  unable  to  distinguish  between  our  waking 
and  sleeping  thoughts,  and  when  we  are,  we  console  our 
selves  with  the  reflection  that  those  who  never  dream  never 
think. 


DANTE. 

DANTE  has  been  fortunate  in  his  translators.  Gary  and 
Longfellow  have  perhaps  furnished  the  best  and  truest  to 
the  spirit  of  the  original.  Either  of  them  will  give  the 
reader  a  better  idea  of  the  genius  of  the  great  Florentine 
than  Carlyle's  literal  prose  version. 

In  1867  Dr.  James  Parsons  published  the  first  canto  of 
the  "  Divina  Commedia,"  in  which  he  substituted  the  decasyl 
labic  quatrain  for  the  triple  rhyme  of  the  Italian  with  toler 
able  effect,  but  his  work  is  regarded  in  no  other  light  than 
as  a  free  translation. 

Gary's  translation  is  even  better  known  in  this  country 
than  Longfellow's.  Prescott  said  of  it : —  "  If  DANTE  could 
have  foreseen  it  he  would  have  given  his  translator  a  place 
in  his  ninth  heaven." 

But  notwithstanding  this  praise,  and  the  popularity  of  the 
work,  it  lacks  the  music,  the  terza  rima,  the  "  continuous 
interchanging  harmony"  of  the  original.  Longfellow,  in 
the  opinion  of  our  ablest  critics,  has  given  us  a  rigorous 
adhesion  to  the  words  and  idioms  of  the  text,  and  at  the 
same  time  has  preserved  all  its  delicious  and  entrancing 
music.  We  rejoice  to  know  that  DANTE  is  now  being 
more  thoroughly  read  and  studied  than  ever  before.  No 
poet  who  has  ever  lived  has  equaled  him  in  intensity  of  feel 
ing  or  surpassed  him  in  fiery  bursts  of  passionate  eloquence. 
He  has  often  been  compared  with  Petrarch,  but  there  is 
6 


122  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

little  or  nothing  in  the  poetry  of  the  latter  to  justify  the 
comparison.  It  is  true  that  there  is  much  to  admire  in 
Petrarch,  but  there  is  also  much  that  is  prurient,  insipid, 
and  disgusting.  We  weary  of  his  love  speeches  to  Laura. 
They  are  too  monotonous.  They  lack  strength,  variety, 
depth,  and  originality.  The  incident  he  relates  of  seeing 
a  young  peasant  girl,  on  a  summer  day,  washing  in  a  run 
ning  stream  a  veil  of  the  same  texture  as  one  worn  by 
Laura,  and  of  his  trembling  before  her  as  if  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Laura  herself,  may  be  very  sentimental  and  roman 
tic,  but  we  hardly  think  it  worthy  of  being  enshrined  in 
verse,  and  least  of  all  such  verse  as  Petrarch  was  capable 
of  writing. 

DANTE'S  love  speeches,  on  the  contrary,  are  never  occa 
sioned  by  such  ludicrous  incidents.  He  seems  to  have  a 
soul  above  the  aggrandisement  of  insignificant  things. 
His  poetry  is  ever  marked  by  a  uniform  excellence.  He 
is  at  all  times  terribly  in  earnest.  It  is  almost  impossible 
to  think  of  him  without  regretting  that  the  age  in  which  he 
lived  was  incapable  of  appreciating  his  rare  and  wondrous 
gifts.  It  seems  that  fortune  frowned  upon  him  from  his 
birth.  When  only  nine  years  of  age  he  met  Beatrice  Porti- 
nari,  to  whose  love  and  beauty  he  attributed  the  inspiration 
of  his  genius.  She  died  in  early  youth,  but  not  until  she 
became  the  wife  of  another.  It  is  said  that  she  did  not 
wholly  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  his  vows  of  affection,  but  main 
tained  for  him  the  loftiest  ideas  of  Platonic  love.  His  dis 
consolate  grief  on  being  unable  to  secure  her  for  his  bride, 
won  for  him  the  affections  of  the  beautiful  Gemma  Dei 
Donati,  a  descendant  of  a  long  line  of  powerful  and  warlike 
nobles.  His  marriage  with  her  was  anything  else  but  a 
happy  one.  In  the  revolution  of  Ghian  Delia,  he  was 
arrayed  in  the  ranks  of  the  citizens  against  the  nobility. 
He  was  elected  one  of  the  Priors  of  Florence,  but  when 


DANTE. 

the  opposite  party  came  into  power  he  was  condemned  to 
pay  a  fine  for  an  alleged  malversation  in  office.  He  was 
sentenced  to  be  burned  alive  if  taken  within  the  bounda 
ries  of  the  Republic.  Thus  cruelly  banished  from  Florence, 
forsaken  by  his  friends  and  relatives,  he  became  a  home 
less  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  He  stepped 
awhile  in  Sienna  and  in  Bologna,  and  with  the  Ghibelline 
chieftian,  Fazuola,  on  the  mountains  near  Ubini.  It  is 
said  that  he  wandered  to  France  and  England,  and  was 
seen  in  Paris  and  at  Oxford.  Wherever  he  went,  trouble, 
and  pain,  and  sorrow  marked  his  footsteps.  He  has 
himself  said  : 

"  Through  almost  all  parts  where  the  Italian  is  spoken, 
a  wanderer  and  well-nigh  a  beggar,  I  have  gone,  showing 
against  my  will  the  wound  of  fortune.  Truly  I  have  been 
a  vessel  without  sail  or  rudder,  driven  to  divers  ports, 
estuaries  and  shores  by  that  hot  blast,  the  breath  of  poverty, 
and  I  have  shown  myself  to  the  eyes  of  many  who,  per 
haps,  through  some  fame  of  me  had  imagined  me  in  quite 
another  guise,  in  whose  view  not  only  my  person  was 
debased,  but  every  work  of  mine  done  or  yet  to  do  became 
valueless." 

In  the  midst  of  his  sufferings  an  effort  was  made  to  pro 
cure  his  return  to  Florence.  Alas  !  that  genius  should  so 
often  draw  upon  itself  the  bitterest  persecution.  It  is  not 
the  gift  of  the  crowd.  It  is  an  original  and  a  creative 
being,  ever  diffusing  its  light  upon  the  world,  yet  asking 
none  from  it.  It  is  often  idolised,  crowned  and  sceptred, 
clothed  in  purple  and  decked  with  glittering  jewels,  but 
oftener  trampled  under  foot,  and  pierced  by  the  shafts  of 
envy  and  jealousy,  which,  like  the  fabled  arrows  of  Acestes, 
take  fire  as  they  fly. 

The  conditions  on  which  DANTE  was  allowed  to  return 
to  Florence  were  conceived  in  a  spirit  of  the  bitterest  malig- 


124 


STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 


nity.     We  can  form  some  idea  of  the  loftiness  of  his  pride 
from  a  letter  on  this  subject  addressed  to  a  relative:  — 

"  I  will  return,"  said  he,  "  with  hasty  steps,  if  you  or  any 
other  can  open  to  me  a  way  that  shall  not  derogate  from 
the  fame  and  honor  of  DANTE  j  but  if  by  no  other  way 
Florence  can  be  entered,  then  Florence  I  shall  never  see. 
What  1  shall  I  not  everywhere  enjoy  the  light  of  the  sun 
and  the  stars,  and  may  I  not  seek  and  contemplate  in 
every  corner  of  the  earth,  under  the  canopy  of  heaven, 
consoling  and  delightful  truth,  without  first  rendering  myself 
inglorious,  nay,  infamous,  to  the  people  and  Republic  of 
Florence  ?  Bread,  I  hope,  will  not  fail  me." 

A  monument  was  erected  to  him  at  Ravenna,  where  he 
passed  the  last  days  of  his  life.  Florence  made  two  formal 
demands  for  his  remains,  but  the  city  that  had  given  him  a 
home  in  his  distress  could  not,  in  justice  to  itself,  grant  the 
request. 

In  person,  DANTE  was  above  the  medium  height.  His 
complexion  was  of  a  dark  olive.  His  eyes  were  dark  and 
piercing,  and  of  a  singular  brilliancy  of  expression.  His 
countenance  was  resolute  and  determined,  and  ever  dis 
played  a  shade  of  melancholy.  His  disposition  was  natu 
rally  mild  and  gentle,  but  became  harsh  and  irascible 
through  intense  mental  suffering. 

By  the  common  consent  of  mankind,  his  "  Divina  Corn- 
media  "ranks  with  the  "Iliad"  and  "Odyssey."  His  Bea 
trice,  as  portrayed  with  her  flowing  hair  and  starry  eyes,  and 
cheeks  whose  roseate  hue  shames  the  glory  of  the  morn, 
whose  breath  is  the  perfume  of  the  opening  rose,  whose 
snowy  bosom  swells  with  love's  own  sighs,  is  indeed  no  mor 
tal,  but  an  angel  of  light,  throned  among  the  supremely  blest. 
He  was  the  first  poet  of  his  country  who  gave  elegance  of 
style  and  diction  to  his  native  tongue.  He  has  been  often 
called  the  father  of  Italian  literature.  The  statesmen  and 


DANTE.  125 

scholars  of  his  time  thought  it  an  evidence  of  vulgarity  to 
speak  or  write  in  any  other  language  than  the  Latin ;  but 
DANTE  found  in  the  speech  of  the  illiterate  peasantry  the 
sweetest  tones  of  music. 

"  Di  Monarchia  "  and  the  "  Convito  "  are,  perhaps,  his 
most  popular  prose  works. 

Mr.  Norton  has  recently  translated  the  "  Vita  Nuovo.' 
His  version  of  "  II  Dolarosa  "  is  greatly  admired. 

Shelley's  translation  of  the  ode  entitled  "  A  Wish,"  which 
we  give  below,  is  unequaled  for  the  exquisite  flow  of  its 
numbers :  — 

"  Guido,  I  would  that  Lappo,  thou  and  I, 
Led  by  some  strong  enchantment,  might  ascend 
A  magic  ship,  whose  charmed  sails  should  fly 
With  the  winds  at  will,  where'er  our  thoughts  might  wend, 
So  that  no  change  or  any  evil  chance 
Should  mar  our  joyous  voyage,  but  it  might  be 
That  even  satiety  should  still  enhance 
Between  our  hearts  their  strict  community ; 
And  that  the  bounteous  wizard  then  would  place 
Vanna  and  Bice  and  my  gentle  love, 
Companions  of  our  wanderings,  and  would  grace 
With  passionate  tales,  wherever  we  might  rove, 
Our  time,  and  each  were  as  content  and  free 
As  I  believe  that  thou  and  I  should  be." 


THE  GYPSIES. 

THE  Gypsies  are  wholly  ignorant  of  their  origin,  and 
have  kept  but  an  imperfect  record  of  their  migrations ;  but 
it  is  evident  that  they  are  a  distinct  race  of  people.  Like 
the  Jews,  they  have  no  country  of  their  own,  and  are  scat 
tered  over  all  parts  of  the  globe.  Time  has  made  little  or 
no  change  in  their  peculiarities.  They  have  the  same 
language,  personal  appearance,  habits,  and  customs,  that 
they  had  centuries  ago.  The  name  of  Gypsies  (meaning 
Egyptians)  is  doubtless  an  incorrect  one.  At  least  we 
know  of  nothing  to  justify  them  in  the  assumption  of  the 
title.  In  Italy  they  are  called  "Zingari,"  in  Germany 
"  Zigeuner,"  in  Spain  "  Gitanos,"  in  Turkey  "  Tchengen- 
ler,"  in  Persia  "  Sisech  Hindu,"  in  Sweden  "Tartars," 
and  in  France  "  Bohemiens." 

Borrow  expresses  the  opinion  that  the  name  of  Gypsies 
originated  among  the  priests  and  learned  men  of  Europe, 
who  expected  to  find  in  Scripture  some  account  of  their 
origin  and  some  clew  to  their  skill  in  the  occult  sciences. 

Simson,  the  author  of  a  recent  work  entitled  the  "  His 
tory  of  the  Gypsies,"  believes  that  they  are  a  mixture  of  the 
shepherd-kings  and  the  native  Egpytians,  who  formed  part 
of  the  "  mixed  multitude  "  mentioned  in  the  Biblical  ac 
count  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Jews  from  Egypt.  Grell- 
man,  however,  traces  their  origin  to  India.  He  says  that 
they  belong  to  the  Soodra  caste.  Vulcanius  describes 


THE  GYPSIES.  127 

them  simply  as  robbers  and  outlaws,  and  Hervas  regards 
their  language  as  "a  mere  jargon  of  banditti." 

Their  keen  black  eyes,  swarthy  complexion,  long  raven 
locks,  high  cheek-bones,  and  projecting  lower  jaws  evi 
dently  indicate  Asiatic  origin.  It  is  certain  that  neither 
their  language  nor  physiognomy  are  African.  It  is  argued 
that  if  really  Egyptians,  they  would  in  all  probability  have 
preserved  a  religion,  or  some  of  the  forms  of  worship  so 
characteristic  of  the  descendants  of  that  people  ;  whereas, 
the  Gypsies  have  no  religion  at  all. 

Indeed,  it  is  a  proverb  with  them  that  "  the  Gypsy 
church  was  built  of  lard,  and  the  dogs  ate  it." 

Whether  Egyptians  or  not,  they  are  doubtless  what  they 
claim  to  be,  "  Rommany  Chals,"  and  not  "  Gorgios." 
Very  few  who  have  seen  them  will  refuse  to  believe  that 
they  do  not  understand  the  art  of  making  horse-shoes,  and 
of  snake-charming,  fortune-telling,  poisoning  with  the  drows, 
and  of  singing  such  songs  as  the  following : 

"  The  Rommany  chi 
And  the  Rommany  chal 
Shall  jaw  tasaulor 
To  drab  the  bawlor, 
And  dook  the  gry 
Of  the  farming  rye." 

"  The  Rommany  churl 
And  the  Rommany  girl 
To-morrow  shall  hie 
To  poison  the  sty, 
And  bewitch  on  the  mead 
The  farmer's  steed." 

At  one  time  the  Gypsies  were  under  the  protection  of 
the  Scottish  kings.  James  IV.  gave  Antonius  Gawino,  who 
claimed  to  be  "  Count  of  Little  Egypt,"  a  letter  of  recom 
mendation  to  the  King  of  Denmark. 


I28  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

It  fe  well  known  that  James  V.  issued  a  document  guar 
anteeing  protection  to  "  Our  lovit  John  Faa,  Lord  and  Erie 
of  Litil  Egypt."  This  document  also  called  upon  the 
people  of  Scotland  not  to  molest  the  said  John  Faa  or  his 
band  "in  doing  their  lawful  business."  It  has  been  a 
matter  of  conjecture  what  that  business  was ;  but  it  was, 
doubtless,  as  Mr.  Petelengro  would  say,  "business  of 
Egypt." 

The  history  of  the  Faas  is  singularly  interesting.  The 
tribes  in  England  and  Scotland  were  ruled  by  them  for 
several  centuries. 

Andro  Faa  possessed  sufficient  influence  with  the  crown 
to  procure  a  pardon  for  manslaughter  in  1554- 

In  the  seventeenth  century  one  of  his  descendants,  Cap 
tain  John  Faa,  made  such  an  impression  on  the  heart  of 
the  beautiful  Countess  of  Cassilis,  that  she  was  persuaded 
to  elope  with  him  from  her  husband,  but  the  Captain  and 
most  of  his  band  were  soon  afterward  captured  and  exe 
cuted. 

This  incident  gave  rise  to  the  celebrated  song  entitled 
"  The  Gypsie  Laddie."  We  give  below  the  first  and  con 
cluding  verses :  — 

"The  Gypsy  came  to  Lord  Cassilis'  yett, 

And  O  but  they  sang  bonnie  ; 
They  sang  sae  sweet  and  sae  complete, 
That  down  came  our  fair  ladie. 

"  They  were  fifteen  valiant  men, 

Black,  but  very  bonnie, 
And  they  all  lost  their  lives  for  ane  — 
The  Earl  of  Cassilis'  ladie." 

The  Faas  afterward  changed  their  name  to  Fall.  Many 
of  them  were  distinguished  for  their  fine  personal  appear 
ance,  dignified  and  elegant  bearing,  and  superior  mental 
accomplishments.  They  are  connected  by  marriage  with 


'I HE  GYPSIES. 


129 


some  of  the  noblest  families  in  Scotland.  Captain  James 
Fall,  member  of  Parliament,  was  particularly  proud  of  his 
Gypsy  origin,  and  took  every  opportunity  to  boast  of  it ; 
and  a  Mrs.  Fall,  wife  of  the  Provost  of  Dunbar,  repre 
sented  with  her  own  hands,  in  needle-work,  the  whole 
family,  "  with  their  asses  and  Gypsy  paraphernalia,  leaving 
Yetholm." 

According  to  Mr.  Simson,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  tell 
in  Scotland  who  are  not  Gypsies.  He  says  that  they  are 
to  be  met  with  in  every  sphere  of  Scottish  life,  and  that  he 
is  acquainted  with  youths  and  men  of  middle  age,  of  edu 
cation  and  character,  who  follow  very  respectable  occupa 
tions,  who  are  Gypsies.  He  thinks  that  the  race  has 
become  so  prolific  that  there  are  probably  500,000  of  them 
in  the  British  isles  alone. 

One  of  the  Miss  Falls  married  Sir  John  Anstruther,  of 
Elie,  Bart. 

It  is  said  that  during  an  exciting  election  for  Parliament, 
in  which  Sir  John  was  a  candidate,  that  his  opponent 
taunted  him  with  his  wife's  Gypsy  origin,  and  sought  to 
injure  him  by  reference  to  it.  The  streets,  it  is  said, 
resounded  with  the  song  of  "  The  Gypsy  Laddie,"  whenever 
Lady  Anstruther  entered  them,  and  on  one  occasion  a  friend 
expressed  the  deepest  regret  that  the  rabble  should  thus 
insult  her.  "  Oh,  never  mind,"  replied  Lady  Anstruther, 
"  they  are  only  repeating  what  they  hear  from  their 
parents." 

The  Gypsies  have  a  great  passion  for  horses,  and  treat 
them  with  the  utmost  kindness.  It  is  well  known  that  while 
they  will  eat  almost  every  kind  of  carrion,  they  will  not 
touch  the  flesh  of  a  horse. 

It  would  seem  that  there  is  a  peculiar  charm  attached  to 
Gypsy  life,  for  it  is  seldom  that  one  of  their  number  de 
serts  them,  and  when  he  does  he  is  almost  sure  to  return 
6* 


I3o  STUDIES  IN  LITERATURE. 

the  first  opportunity.  Hence  the  saying :  "  Once  a  Gypsy, 
always  a  Gypsy."  But  there  are  a  good  many  who  take 
the  appearance  of  Gypsies  without  having  a  Gypsy  origin, 
and  this  reminds  us  of  an  amusing  anecdote  related  by 
that  accomplished  scholar  and  author,  Noble  Butler. 
While  riding  on  the  top  of  an  omnibus  in  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire's  grounds,  he  saw  before  him  a  gang  of  what 
appeared  to  be  Gypsies.  A  gentlemen  sitting  by  him  said, 
"  A  great  many  dye  their  faces  in  this  part  of  the  country, 
and  pass  themselves  as  Gypsies,  that  they  may  beg  and 
steal."  As  the  omnibus  rolled  on,  a  little  boy  ran  out 
from  the  gang  to  the  side  of  the  omnibus,  crying  out, 
"  Pleas'e  to  lave  us  a  pinny,"  with  unmistakable  Irish 
accent.  The  Gypsy  diet  is  said  to  be  very  savory  and 
palatable,  but  while  we,  like  Dominie  Sampson,  might  be 
won  over  to  the  goodly  stew  of  Meg  Merrilies,  which  was 
composed  of  fowls,  hares,  partridges,  and  moor-game, 
boiled  in  a  mess  with  potatoes,  onions,  and  leeks,  we 
hardly  think  that  we  could  become  reconciled  to  the  doc 
trine  that  "  what  God  kills  is  better  than  what  man  kills." 

This  curious  people  are  superstitious  in  the  extreme. 
They  consult  the  stars,  the  flight  of  birds  and  the  soughing 
of  the  wind  for  good  and  evil  omens  ;  and  it  is  said  they 
watch  a  corpse  by  day  and  night  until  it  is  buried,  and 
believe  that  "  the  Diel  tinkles  in  the  lykewake  "  for  those 
who  feel,  during  what  is  called  the  "  death-throe,"  the  ter 
rors  of  remorse.  They  are  both  cowardly  and  treacherous, 
and  are  not  only  malicious,  but  cruelly  vindictive.  They 
seem  to  have  every  vice  but  the  want  "of  chastity.  The 
marriage  tie  with  them  is  regarded  as  sacred.  The  cere 
mony  of  divorce  is  very  imposing,  and  is  performed  around 
the  body  of  a  dead  horse,  sacrificed  for  the  occasion  at  the 
time  of  high  noon. 

Both  sexes  have  an  inordinate  passion  for  jewelry,  and 


THE  GYPSIES. 

have  ever  exhibited  a  fond  ness  for  a  union  of  filth  and  taw 
dry  finery.  But  whatever  may  be  said  of  them,  the  virtue 
of  their  women  is  inviolable.  It  is  seldom  if  ever  con 
quered,  and  when  it  is,  the  punishment  is  death.  We  have 
heard  of  a  beautiful  Gypsy  girl  who  left  her  camp  near 
Madrid  one  evening,  attracted  by  the  strains  of  delicious 
music,  to  engage  in  the  festivities  of  a  ball-room.  She  was 
received  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm,  and  loaded  with  jewels 
and  caresses.  When  the  guests  had  departed,  she  was 
detained  by  one  who  hoped  to  accomplish  her  ruin.  She, 
for  a  time,  heroically  resisted  every  attack  upon  her  virtue, 
but  yielded  at  last.  The  next  morning  she  was  found  hung 
upon  a  post  not  far  from  the  scene  of  her  crime.  The 
country  was  instantly  scoured  for  the  purpose  of  bringing 
the  malefactors  to  justice,  but  there  was  scarcely  a  vestige 
of  the  camp  left,  nor  was  there  a  Gypsy  to  be  seen  in  the 
neighborhood  for  many  years  afterward. 


AUTOGRAPHS. 

THE  collection  of  Autographs  seems  to  have  begun 
about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  Germans 
claim  that  the  custom  first  originated  in  their  country.  I 
know  of  no  reason  to  deny  them  this  honor ;  and  I  cheer 
fully  accord  to  them  the  right  of  sharing  it  in  common  with 
the  renown  of  giving  to  mankind  the  three  great  elements 
of  modern  civilisation  —  printing,  gunpowder,  and  the  Pro 
testant  religion,  .and  of  being  the  first  to  catch  the  light  of 
Shakspeare's  genius  and  to  reflect  it  upon  the  world. 

The  custom  is  said  to  have  originated  among  travellers, 
who  carried  with  them  a  book  or  album  for  the  purpose  of 
securing  the  signatures  of  distinguished  persons.  The  old 
est  book  of  this  kind  is  dated  1558.  It  is  in  the  British 
Museum,  the  repository  of  the  most  valuable  collection  of 
Autographs  in  the  world. 

Magna  Charta,  granted  in  1215,  is  also  deposited  there. 
This  instrument  serves  to  establish  tjie  fact  that  neither  the 
king  nor  any  of  his  nobles  could  write  their  own  names. 
The  signature  of  Shakspeare  is  perhaps  the  most  precious 
of  all  autographic  treasures.  Five  of  his  autographs, 
known  to  be  genuine,  have  been  preserved.  One  of  them 
is  his  last  will  and  testament,  and  is  deposited  at  Doctors' 
Commons,  London.  It  bears  his  signature  in  three  places. 

A  number  of  scholars  have  tried  to  establish  the  theory 
that  the  character  may  be  determined  by  the  rapid  writing. 


AUTOGRAPHS. 


133 


Their  arguments,  however,  are  entitled  to  but  little  consid 
eration. 

Hood,  in  one  of  his  essays,  makes  a  good  deal  of  sport 
of  a  gentleman  who  asked  him  for  his  autograph  He 
pretended  not  to  know  what  kind  he  wanted.  He  said 
autographs  were  of  many  kinds.  For  instance,  charity 
boys  write  theirs  on  large  pieces  of  paper,  illuminated  with 
engraving ;  Draco  wrote  his,  to  oblige  Themis,  in  human 
blood,  and  servants  sometimes  have  a  habit  of  scrawling 
autographs  on  a  tea-board  with  slopped  milk.  He  con 
cluded  by  telling  the  gentleman  that  as  he  had  not  sent 
him  a  brick  wall,  or  a  looking-glass,  or  a  bill-stamp,  or  a 
kitchen-door,  that  he  supposed  he  wanted  a  common  pen, 
ink,  and  paper  autograph  ;  but  in  the  absence  of  any  par 
ticular  direction  for  transmitting  it,  either  by  a  carrier- 
pigeon  or  in  a  fire-balloon,  &c.,  he  would  send  him  one  in 
print.  Hood  was  fully  aware  of  the  dignity  of  the  profes 
sion  of  the  genuine  autographic  collector,  but  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  of  indulging  in  his  quaint  and  inimi 
table  humor. 

The  collection  of  Autographs,  pursued  in  the  proper 
spirit,  cannot  do  otherwise  than  increase  historical  and  bio 
graphical  knowledge. 

One  of  the  most  distinguished  collectors  in  the  United 
States  is  Mr.  L.  J.  Cist,  of  St.  Louis.  He  is  not  only  a 
fine  scholar,  but  one  of  the  best  judges  of  the  genuineness 
of  letters  and  manuscripts  in  the  country.  He  was  for 
many  years  a  resident  of  Cincinnati,  and  is  the  author  of  a 
volume  of  delightful  poems.  I  had  heard  so  much  of  his 
famous  collection  that  I  felt  no  little  curiosity  to  examine 
it  and  to  talk  with  him  about  it.  I  went  to  St.  Louis  a 
few  years  ago,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  making  his  acquain 
tance.  He  received  me  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  cor 
diality.  The  subject  of  Autographs  was  soon  introduced, 


134 


STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 


and  in  a  few  moments  I  found  myself  surrounded  by  his 
priceless  treasures.  He  informed  me  that  he  began  his  col 
lection  more  than  thirty  years  ago.  He  said  that  he  came 
accidentally  into  the  possession  of  the  signatures  of  three 
Presidents  of  the  United  States  —  Madison,  Monroe,  and 
John  Q.  Adams.  These  led  him  to  wish  for  others.  He 
then  undertook  to  make  a  small  collection  of  some  of  the 
most  prominent  living  American  statesmen  and  authors, 
in  which  he  succeeded. 

His  collection  now  comprises  about  twelve  thousand 
letters  and  documents,  written  or  signed,  of  which  about 
one-half  are  American,  the  rest  European,  with  a  small 
sprinkling  of  Asiatic  and  African  (the  King  of  Siam, 
Rammohun  Roy,  Hussein,  the  last  Dey  of  Algiers,  the 
Presidents  of  Liberia,  &c.,  &c.),  illustrated  with  about 
eight  thousand  engraved  portraits  and  views,  and  not  less 
than  fifty  thousand  newspaper-cuttings  containing  biograph 
ical,  historical  and  anecdotal  matters  of  interest  relating  to 
the  persons  whose  autographs  they  illustrate,  classified  as 
follows :  — 

AMERICAN  —  ANTE-REVOLUTIONARY. 

Colonial  and  Royal  Governors,  Proprietaries,  Judges, 
Statesmen,  &c.,  before  the  Revolution,  in  which  may  be 
found  the  autographs  of  more  than  one  hundred  and  fifty  of 
the  original  founders,  proprietors,  and  early  Governors  of  the 
thirteen  colonies  from  1630  to  1776,  including  such  names 
as  Roger  Williams,  Duke  of  York  (James  I.),  Lord  Berkeley, 
Sir  George  Carteret,  William  Penn  and  sons,  Cecil  Lord 
Baltimore,  and  General  Oglethorpe,  founders  or  proprieta 
ries.  Of  the  Governors  of  Massachusetts  from  John  Endi- 
cott,  John  Winthrop,  and  Sir  Henry  Vane,  down  to  Hutch- 
inson  and  Gage,  the  last  two  Royal  Governors  of  Massachu 
setts,  wanting  only  John  Haynes  (Governor  from  1635  to 


A  UTOGRAPHS. 


135 


1636)  to  be  complete.  Of  New  York,  Peter  Stuyvesant 
(an  autograph  letter),  Sir  Edmund  Andros  (an  autograph 
letter),  Thomas  Dongan,  Jacob  Leisler,  Sir  Charles  Hardy, 
DeLancey,  Cadwallader  Golden,  General  Monckton,  Lord 
Dunmore,  and  the  last  Royal  Governor  Tryon.  Of  Penn 
sylvania,  Thomas,  Richard,  and  John  Penn,  Lloyd,  Mark- 
ham,  James  Logan  (from  whom  the  famous  chief  was 
named),  and  others.  Spottiswood,  Drysdale,  Dinwiddie, 
Fauquier,  &c.,  of  Virginia ;  Dobbs,  Tryon,  Craven,  Mid- 
dleton,  Francis  Nicholson,  Reynolds,  Wright,  and  others  of 
North  and  South  Carolina  and  Georgia. 

Of  Statesmen  and  Judges,  are  Chief-Justice  Samuel  Sew- 
all,  of  Massachusetts  j  also  the  Judges  who  tried,  and  Geo. 
Corwin,  the  sheriff  who  hung  the  witches  at  Salem  ;  Col. 
James  Otis,  the  elder  (father  of  the  great  orator  and 
patriot),  the  Delancys  (Oliver,  Stephen,  and  James) ;  lead 
ing  men  of  New  York  in  old  Colony  times,  &c.,  &c. 

Here  also  may  be  found  two  very  rare  documents  of  spe 
cial  interest  to  typos,  the  first  being  — 

"  The  humble  memorial  of  William  Bradford,  printer,  to  the  Governor 
and  Council  of  the  Province  of  New  York,  etc.,  sheweth  : 

"  That  the  tenth  day  of  this  instant,  January,  there  was  one  quarter's 
salary  due  to  him,  and  humbly  prays  that  it  may  be  allowed. 

"  And,  further  :  That,  whereas,  he  came  to  serve  their  Majesties  in 
this  government  by  printing  such  things  as  there  might  be  occasion  of 
for  their  Majesties'  service,"  &c.,  he  goes  on  to  state  that  "  he  has 
printed  for  their  said  Majesties'  service  as  much  as  hath  stood  him  in 
^"50  charge,  and  not  sold  of  the  same  to  the  value  of  ^5,"  &c.,  and 
therefore  humbly  prays  their  favorable  consideration  of  the  same,  and 
subscribes  himself,  &c. 

This  rare  and  precious  relic  of  the  first  printer  of  Penn 
sylvania  and  New  York  is  unfortunately  not  dated,  but  as 
"  their  Majesties  "  alluded  to  were  William  and  Mary,  the 
memorial  must  have  been  written  between  the  years  1693 
(in  which  Bradford  came  to  New  York)  and  1695,  in 


136  STUDIES  IN  LITERA  TURE. 

which  Queen  Mary  died.  Bradford  was  born  in  England 
in  1659,  came  to  America  in  1683,  and  landed  where  Phila 
delphia  now  stands,  before  a  house  was  built  there. 

He  was  the  first  printer  there,  and  in  1687  published  an 
almanac.  He  removed  to  New  York  city  in  1693,  and  was 
for  thirty  years  the  only  printer  in  the  Province,  now  State 
of  New  York,  and  in  1725  started  the  New  York  Gazette, 
the  first  newspaper  published  there.  He  died  May  23, 
1752,  at  the  ripe  old  age  of  ninety-three. 

The  other  interesting  typographical  document  of  early 
date  referred  to,  is  a  short  note  from  James  Franklin, 
the  elder  brother  of  Ben.  Franklin,  with  whom  the  latter 
served  his  apprenticeship  and  learned  the  trade  of  a 
printer.  He  started  in  1722,  at  Boston,  the  New-England 
Courant,  which  was  the  third  newspaper  ever  started  in 
America.  He  afterward,  in  1732,  published  the  Rhode 
Island  Gazette,  the  first  paper  published  in  the  Province  of 
Rhode  Island. 

Any  one  familiar  with  the  well-known  chirography  of  Dr. 
Franklin,  looking  at  this  paper,  will  be  struck  by  the  re 
markable  similarity  in  the  style  of  handwriting  of  the  two 
brothers.  Probably  Benjamin,  who  was  younger  than 
James,  was  taught  to  write  by  his  brother.  If  so,  the 
pupil  afterward  far  excelled  his  master  in  this  as  in  most 
other  acquirements. 

Next  we  have  in  this  division  the  Generals  and  officers 
of  the  French  and  Indian  Colonial  wars,  including  all  the 
British  Generals  commanding-in-chief  in  America  from 
1755  to  1775,  viz.,  Braddock,  Shirley,  Loudoun,  Abercrom- 
bie,  Amherst,  and  Gage,  together  with  many  Colonial  offi 
cers  of  distinction,  such  as  Sir  William  Pepperell,  Sir 
William  Johnson,  Generals  Dwight,  Waldo,  Winslow,  Col. 
Ephraim  Williams,  and  others. 

Two  other  series  belonging  to  Colonial  times  and  his- 


AUTOGRAPHS. 


137 


tory  are  the  Delegates  to  the  Convention  which  met  at 
Albany  in  1754,  and  the  members  of  the  Colonial  (or 
Stamp  Act)  Congress  of  1765,  the  former  consisting  of 
twenty-five  delegates  from  New  Hampshire,  Massachusetts, 
Rhode  Island,  Connecticut,  New  York,  Pennsylvania,  and 
Maryland ;  the  latter  of  twenty-seven  members,  represent 
atives  of  the  Colonies  of  Massachusetts,  Connecticut, 
Rhode  Island,  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Pennsylvania,  Del 
aware,  and  South  Carolina.  Each  of  these  series  in  this 
collection  lacks  but  two  names  of  being  full  and  complete. 

The  earliest  American  paper  in  the  collection  is  an  auto 
graph  of  Governor  John  Winthrop,  of  Massachusetts,  bear 
ing  date  "(3)  23 —  40." — March  23d,  1640.  A  document 
signed  by  Thomas  Dudley,  Governor  in  1645,  'ls  tne  only 
other  American  specimen  of  earlier  date  than  1650. 
There  are  some  eighteen  or  twenty  written  between  1650 
and  1685,  between  which  latter  date  and  the  close  of  the 
seventeenth  century  the  specimens  are  numerous. 

The  reader's  attention  is  now  invited  to  another  part 
of  the  collection,  if  possible  still  more  interesting.  It  is 
the  department  devoted  to  the  autographs  of  distinguished 
men  during  what  may  be  called  the  Revolutionary  period, 
from  1774  to  1788.  It  opens  at  once  to  the  student  a 
world  of  thought  and  reflection.  It  embraces  the  promi 
nent  Generals  and  Statesmen  not  only  of  the  Revolution 
from  1775  to  1783,  but  up  to  the  time  of  the  Constitution 
of  1787,  when  the  Confederation  gave  way  to  the  more 
vigorous  form  of  our  present  government.  This  depart 
ment  includes  the  following  subdivision  :  — 

THE   SIGNERS   OF   THE    DECLARATION    OF    INDEPENDENCE, 

It  contains  one  or  more  original  letters  of  every  one  of  the 
signers  of  that  instrument.  Some  of  these  letters  are  of  the 
deepest  interest,  as,  for  example,  where  Josiah  Bartlett,  of 


1 3  8  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  7  URE. 

New  Hampshire,  writes,  under  date  of  January  29th,  1775  : 
"  This  colony  chose  deputies  who  met  in  congress  at  Exe 
ter  the  1 7th  day  of  May  last,  and  agreed  to  raise  two 
thousand  men  for  the  common  defense  of  the  colonies ; " 
or  where  William  Whipple,  in  September,  1776,  says: — "  It 
seems  to  be  settled  that  our  troops  have  quitted  Long 
Island.  The  consequence  there  will  be  that  they  must 
also  evacuate  New  York ; "  or  where  John  Adams  writes 
Elbridge  Gerry,  from  Paris,  1780  : — "  What  am  I  to  do  for 
money  ?  Not  one  line  have  I  received  from  Congress  or 
any  member  of  Congress  since  I  left  America."  There  is 
also  a  letter  from  William  Williams,  dated  May  25th,  1775, 
to  the  "  Delegates  from  Connecticut  to  ye  General  Con 
gress,"  with  a  reply  to  the  same,  signed  by  Eliphalet  Dyer 
and  Roger  Sherman,  relating  to  the  capture  of  Ticon- 
deroga.  The  answer  of  William  Floyd,  dated  July  4th, 
1821,  to  the  address  of  his  fellow-citizens  who  had  met  to 
celebrate  the  anniversary  of  Independence,  is  of  special 
interest  when  we  think  that  he  was  then  in  his  87th  year, 
and  that  he  died  August  4th,  1821,  precisely  one  month 
afterward. 

Here  is  found  a  letter  from  Dr.  Franklin,  written  in  1750, 
inclosing  a  draft  of  a  course  of  study  "for  the  English 
School,"  in  which  he  says: — "I  am  very  unfit,  having 
neither  been  educated  myself  (except  as  a  tradesman)  nor 
concerned  in  the  education  of  others."  Another  letter  of 
Franklin  to  his  wife,  dated  London,  July  $th,  1769,  is  char 
acteristic  for  the  style  of  its  address,  commencing,  "  My 
dear  child,"  and  ending,  "Your  affectionate  husband,  B. 
Franklin." 

Here  are  letters  of  Robert  Morris,  the  great  financier  of 
the  Revolution,  some  written  when  he  filled  the  office 
of  Secretary  of  Finance,  and  others  penned  in  jail,  where 
he  died  a  prisoner  for  debt.  One  member  of  the  Pennsyl- 


AUTOGRAPHS. 

vania  delegation,  writing  to  his  wife  in  1776,  concludes 
with,  "  I  am  in  good  health  and  spirits,  and  live  mostly  at 
my  own  little  house,  as  the  people  call  it.  Give  Peggy, 
Betsy  and  Jim  each  a  buss  for  me.  I  write  this  in  Con 
gress  chamber,  not  having  time  to  go  to  my  lodging,  and 
am,  dear  Ellen,  your  loving  and  affectionate  spouse,  James 
Smith.  Mr.  Hancock  [meaning  John  Hancock]  calls  me 
to  the  other  room.  Adieu.  J.  S." 

A  long  letter  from  William  Hooper  details  the  landing 
of  the  enemy,  in  1781,  at  Wilmington,  and  the  capture  of 
his  family  and  property  there,  saying :  — "  Where  I  shall  go 
from  this,  God  knows.  The  world  is  open  before  me. 
Without  a  family  and  without  property,  I  bear  my  all 
about  me." 

Francis  Lightfoot  Lee,  writing  to  his  brother,  Richard 
Henry  Lee,  in  1777,  from  Yorktown,  says: — "I  have 
received  no  letters  from  Richmond  these  two  posts  past 
There  is  some  rascality  in  the  postoffice.  Lwish  you  could 
find  it  out."  Postmasters,  even  in  those  early  days,  were 
not  always  immaculate. 

We  have  a  letter  from  John  Hancock  (1778)  to  Dr. 
Franklin  in  Paris,  one  from  John  Adams  (1779)  to  Arthur 
Lee,  and  Robert  Truit  Paine  (1778)  to  Elbridge  Gerry, 
Roger  Sherman  (1781)  to  Josiah  Bartlett,  Francis  Lewis 
(1778)  to  Governor  George  S.  Clinton,  Charles  Carroll  to 
General  Washington,  Thomas  Jefferson  (1779)  to  Richard 
Henry  Lee,  Richard  Henry  Lee  (August,  1776)  to  Patrick 
Henry,  and  Thos.  Nelson  to  B.  Harrison. 

Here  I  saw  an  autograph  of  Thomas  Lynch,  Jr.,  cut 
from  the  fly-leaf  of  a  book,  the  only  one  extant  save  his 
signature  to  the  original  document  at  Washington.  His 
letters  have  been  sought  for  in  vain  by  collectors  in  South 
Carolina  and  elsewhere. 

Forty-eight  autographs  of  this  department  are  what  are 


1 40  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

called  holographs,    letters   or  documents  entirely  written 
and  signed  by  the  writers. 

A  large  majority  of  the  signers  of  this  instrument  had 
passed  from  the  stage  of  action  more  than  a  generation 
before  Mr.  C.  began  his  collection.  It  will  be  seen  that 
his  task  was  one  of  the  utmost  difficulty.  He  accomplished 
it  in  about  fifteen  years.  His  success  in  its  final  comple 
tion  is  equaled  only  by  the  energy  and  patience  he  brought 
to  bear  upon  it. 

I  regret  that  I  have  time  only  to  notice  briefly  that  part 
of  Mr.  Cist's  collection  comprising  the  distinguished  Gen 
erals  and  officers  of  the  Revolutionary  war.  He  has  in  this 
department  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  original  letters,  in 
cluding  letters  from  Washington,  Kosciusko,  DeKalb,  Lee, 
Wayne,  Marion,  Sumter,  Pickens,  and  others.  This  branch 
of  his  collection  is  illustrated  by  two  hundred  engraved  por 
traits.  It  also  includes  letters  from  a  number  of  distin 
guished  British  officers,  such  as  Burgoyne,  Howe,  and  Corn- 
wallis.  There  is  also  a  letter  from  the  famous  Indian  chief, 
Joseph  Brandt,  or  Thaendaneger,  written  in  1795,  in  which 
he  expresses,  in  very  good  English,  his  indignation  at  the 
Indians  being  compared  to  the  Fr»ench.  "  Indians,"  he 
says,  "  are  not  wholly  destitute  of  humanity." 

There  is  another  division  which  comprises  the  Presidents 
and  members  of  the  old  (or  Continental)  Congress  from 
1774  to  1778.  This  interesting  series  contains  autographs 
of  all  the  Presidents  (fourteen  in  number),  and  about  three 
hundred  of  the  three  hundred  and  fifty  Revolutionary  wor 
thies  who  represented  their  States  (the  old  thirteen)  in 
Congress  during  the  fifteen  years  above  mentioned.  The 
Presidents  were  Peyton  Randolph,  Henry  Middleton  (acting 
for  a  few  days  only),  John  Hancock,  Henry  Laurens,  John 
Jay,  Sam'l  Huntington,  Thomas  McKean,  John  Hanson, 
Elias  Boudinot,  Thomas  Mifflin,  Richard  Henry  Lee, 
Nathaniel  Gorham,  Arthur  St.  Clair,  and  Cyrus  Griffin. 


AUTOGRAPHS.  I4J 

Next  after  the  Continental  Congresses  comes  the  Anna 
polis  Convention  of  1786,  the  precursor  of  the  Federal  Con 
vention  of  1787,  which  formed  the  present  Constitution  of 
the  United  States. 

This  Convention,  called  by  the  Congress,  consisted  of 
the  following  delegates  from  their  respective  States  : —  Alex. 
Hamilton,  and  Egbert  Benson,  New  York ;  Abraham  Clark, 
Wm.  C.  Houston,  and  James  Schureman,  New  Jersey ; 
Tench  Coxe,  Penna. ;  John  Dickinson,  George  Read,  and 
Richard  Bassett,  Delaware ;  James  Madison,  Edmund 
Randolph,  and  St.  George  Tucker,  Virginia.  It  met  Sept. 
nth,  1786,  chose  John  Dickinson  as  its  chairman,  and 
adjourned  Sept.  i4th,  having  limited  its  labors  to  the  re 
commendation  of  a  more  general  convention  from  all  the 
States,  to  be  held  in  Philadelphia  the  following  year. 

That  Convention,  which  met  in  May,  1787,  is  generally 
known  as  the  "  Federal  Convention  of  1787,"  and  its  mem 
bers  are  designated  by  autograph  collectors  as  the 
"  Signers  "  or  "  Framers  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States." 

The  number  of  Delegates  who  attended  the  Convention, 
and  took  part  in  its  proceedings,  who  may  be  called  the 
"  Framers  of  the  Constitution,"  was  55,  of  whom,  however, 
only  37  (including  Geo.  Washington  as  President,  and  Wm. 
Jackson  as  Secretary),  were  actually  Signers  of  the  instru 
ment  when  completed.  Besides  the  55  delegates  in  attend 
ance,  there  were  10  others  (65  in  all)  originally  appointed, 
but  who  declined,  or  failed  to  attend  the  Convention.  It 
will  be  seen  it  is  thus  a  difficult  matter,  in  making  a  list  or 
collection  of  the  autographs  of  the  "  Members  of  the 
Federal  Convention  "  or  "  Signers  of  the  Constitution,"  to 
decide  of  how  many  and  what  names  it  shall  be  com 
posed.  Some  collectors  confine  themselves  to  the  Signers 
proper,  others  collect  all  the  members  who  actually  attended 


I42  STUDIES  IN  LITERA  TURE. 

the  Convention.  Mr.  C.  having,  many  years  ago,  com 
pleted  both  these,  subsequently  extended  his  plan  to  em 
brace  all  those  who  were  elected  or  appointed  delegates  to 
the  Convention,  whether  they  attended  it  or  not,  and  his 
series  now  consists  of  choice  letters  of  every  such  dele 
gate,  with  but  a  single  exception. 

The  balance  of  the  collection,  which  may  be  classified 
under  the  general  head  of 

LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  AND  MISCELLANEOUS, 

is  further  sub-divided  into 

AUTHORS. —  Historians  and  Biographers,  Novelists  and 
Belles-Lettrists,  Poets,  &c. 

SCIENTIFIC.  —  Naturalists,  Inventors,  Travellers,  and 
Arctic  Voyagers,  &c.,  &c. 

MEDICAL,  CLERICAL.  —  From  Increase  and  Cotton 
Mather  down,  including  complete  a  series  of  the  Bishops 
of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  since  the  commence 
ment  ;  another  (nearly  complete)  of  the  Methodist  Bishops 
in  the  United  States,  from  Coke  and  Asbury  down ; 
together  with  all  the  Archbishops,  and  most  of  the 
eminent  Bishops  of  the  Catholic  Church,  from  its  first 
American  Bishop,  John  Carroll,  to  the  present  day. 

MISCELLANEOUS.  —  Distinguished  Jurists,  Judges,  and 
Lawyers;  Editors  and  Politicians;  Hartford  Convention, 
&c.,  &c. ;  while  a  curious  miscellaneous  medley  brings  up 
the  rear,  in  which  the  names  of  Lafitte  the  Pirate,  Burr  and 
Blennerhassett,  Walker,  Lopez  and  other  filibusters  ;  Davy 
Crockett,  Lorenzo  Dow,  and  Lord  Timothy  Dexter  ; 
the  Rapps,  Robert  Owen,  and  Fanny  Wright ;  Joe  Smith 
and  Brigham  Young ;  Siamese  Twins,  Barnum,  and  Tom 


AUTOGRAPHS.  143 

Thumb ;  John  Ross,  the  Cherokee  Chief,  Wm.  Lloyd  Gar 
rison  •  and  John  Brown,  whose 

"  Body  lies  mouldering  in  the  grave, 
While  his  soul  is  marching  on  "  — 

all  jostle  each  other,  or  like 

"  Black  spirits  and  white, 
Blue  spirits  and  gray, 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle, 
Those  that  mingle  may." 


JANAUSCHEK. 

IT  is  somewhat  singular  that  we  should  find  among  the 
Germans  the  greatest  delineator  of  one  of  the  sublimest 
of  Shakspeare's  characters.  We  have  always  had  the 
highest  appreciation  of  German  intellect.  We  thought 
that  they  knew  more  about  everything  else  than  about  the 
art  of  acting.  We  knew  well  enough  that  they  had  taught 
us  something  about  the  arts  and  sciences,  about  criticism, 
mechanism,  aesthetics,  poetry,  philosophy,  and  religion  ; 
but  until  we  saw  JANAUSCHEK,  we  could  not  divest  our 
selves  of  the  idea  that  they  are  awkward  and  clumsy. 

Schlegel  had  but  an  indifferent  opinion  of  German 
acting.  He  said  that  the  theatre  was  at  a  very  low  ebb. 
He  did  not  attribute  this  deficiency  to  a  want  of  talent 
among  his  people  for  dramatic  art,  but  to  a  want  of  proper 
appreciation  and  cultivation  of  it.  In  speaking  of  German 
plays  he  says,  "  there  is  too  much  romance  in  them,"  and 
that  "  the  word  romantic  is  too  often  profaned  by  being  lav 
ished  upon  rude  and  monstrous  abortions." 

If  the  Germans,  generally,  have  not  produced  great 
actors,  they  have  certainly  produced  some  of  the  greatest 
critics  upon  Shakspeare,  if  indeed  they  were  not  the  first 
to  catch  the  light  of  his  genius  and  reflect  it  upon  the 
world.  Hazlitt,  in  speaking  of  German  criticism,  says,  "  I 
am  free  to  confess  that  my  national  pride  was  wounded  at 
the  reflection  that  it  was  reserved  for  foreign  critics  to  give 


JAN  A  USC HE  K.  !4  5 

reasons  for  the  faith  that  the  English  have  in  Shakspeare." 
Hazlitt's  admiration  for  Schlegel  was  unbounded.  He 
said  that  "  no  one  has  shown  the  same  enthusiastic  admi 
ration  for  Shakspeare's  genius,  or  the  same  philosophical 
acuteness  in  pointing  out  his  characteristic  excellence." 

These  compliments  to  Schlegel  are  richly  deserved,  for 
his  criticisms  will  compare  favorably  with  those  of  any  of 
the  English  critics.  Lessing,  we  believe,  was  the  earliest, 
if  not  indeed  the  greatest  of  the  German  Shakspearean 
scholars.  But  Herder  in  the  "  Blatter  von  Deutscher 
Art,"  and  Kunst  and  Tieck  in  "  Letters  on  Shakspeare," 
and  Goethe  in  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  and  Schiller  and  Schell- 
ing,  are  other  august  examples  of  the  German  appreciation 
of  Shakspeare's  genius.  Our  indebtedness  to  German  crit 
icism  will  be  more  fully  appreciated  when  we  recollect  how 
unfavorably  Shakspeare  has  been  treated  by  some  of  the 
ablest  English  scholars  and  authors.  For  instance,  Dr. 
Johnson  sneers  at  him,  and  says  that  his  pathos  is  not 
natural,  but  far-fetched  and  full  of  affectation,  and  that  his 
characters  are  mere  "  species,  instead  of  individuals." 
Hume,  the  historian,  also  vents  his  spleen  against  him 
who  is  the  first  in  the  world's  literature,  and  in  the  appre 
ciation  of  the  arts,  sciences,  religions,  knowledge,  and 
philosophy ;  who  has  conjured  up  landscapes  of  immortal 
fragrance  and  freshness  and  beauty,  and  peopled  them 
with  beings  who  have  displayed  all  the  varied  and  compli 
cated  phases  of  humanity,  and  whose  thoughts,  speeches, 
words,  sentiments,  passions,  and  imaginings,  have  become 
the  common  property  of  mankind.  Hume  says,  "  It  is  in 
vain  that  we  look  into  Shakspeare  for  either  purity  or  sim 
plicity  of  diction.  His  total  ignorance  of  all  theatrical  art 
and  conduct,  however  material  a  defect,  yet,  as  it  affects  the 
spectator  rather  than  the  reader,  we  can  more  easily  excuse 
than  that  want  of  taste  which  prevails  in  his  productions." 
7 


146  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

Whether  or  not  we  acknowledge  the  supremacy  of  Ger 
man  criticism  in  regard  to  Shakspeare,  we  must  acknow 
ledge  the  grandeur,  power,  and  beauty,  and  pathos  of 
JANAUSCHEK'S  acting  in  Lady  Macbeth,  which  is,  perhaps, 
the  least  understood  of  any  of  Shakspeare's  characters. 

Lady  Macbeth  is  generally  regarded  as  a  mere  blood 
thirsty  and  despicable  female  fury,  but  JANAUSCHEK  has 
given  us  an  insight  into  those  sweet  and  tender  and  gentle 
emotions  of  the  soul  which  made  the  Thane  of  Cawdor 
regard  and  address  her  as  the  dearest  partner  of  his 
greatness. 

Some  years  ago  we  spoke  of  JANAUSCHEK  in  connection 
with  Ristori,  but  there  is  really  no  comparison  between 
them.  Ristori  may  have  strength,  power,  beauty,  and 
originality  of  conception,  but  she  lacks  the  culture,  the 
refinement,  the  intellect,  the  delicacy  of  feeling,  the  pro 
found  thought  and  depth  of  penetration,  the  subtle  and 
keen  analysis  of  character,  the  wonderfully  varied  emotions 
and  passions,  the  energy,  the  spirit,  the  fire  and  genius  of 
her  rival. 

We  have  said  that  there  is  no  comparison  to  be  made 
between  these  two  great  artists,  but  we  are  reminded  that 
both  of  them  lend  their  splendid  gifts  to  the  delineation  of 
such  sensational  dramas  as  Giacometta's  "Elizabeth." 
This  abominable  play  has  been  translated  into  the  French, 
the  German,  the  Spanish,  and  the  English  languages,  and 
has  been  made  popular  in  this  country  by  the  acting  of 
Mrs.  Lander,  Ristori,  and  JANAUSCHEK.  It  abounds  in 
ridiculous  and  sensational  passages,  and  presents  little 
or  no  claims  to  either  dramatic  art  or  literary  merit.  There 
is  one  scene  in  the  third  act  which  strikes  us  as  particularly 
objectionable.  It  is  where  Elizabeth  is  dictating  two  letters 
at  once,  one  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester  and  the  other  to  Chief- 
Justice  Popham.  She  is  represented  as  delivering  her 


JANAUSCHEK.  147 

words  in  an  arrogant  and  imperial  tone,  and  at  the  conclu 
sion  she  pronounces  her  name  Elizabeth  with  startling 
effect.  The  strangest  part  about  it  is  that  this  scene  is 
always  vehemently  applauded  —  but  perhaps,  after  all,  not 
so  strange  as  that  a  gifted  and  highly  cultivated  artis; 
should  abuse  her  talents  in  thus  attempting  to  display  such 
clap-trap  nonsense.  Elizabeth,  though  endowed  with  more 
than  the  usual  vanity  of  her  sex,  attached  her  name,  in  all 
probability,  to  public  documents,  letters,  and  State  papers, 
with  very  little  parade,  at  least  without  indulging  in  such 
unnecessary  bombast  and  pomposity. 

But  to  return  to  Lady  Macbeth.  A  short  time  since 
JANAUSCHEK  personated  this  character  at  the  Boston 
Theatre.  She  was  supported  by  Edwin  Booth  as  Macbeth. 
The  occasion  of  two  such  brilliant  stars  appearing  together 
was  indeed  a  rare  one..  It  was  looked  upon  as  an  epoch 
in  the  history  of  the  American  stage.  More  than  four 
thousand  persons  were  present.  The  audience  extended 
to  the  distant  and  almost  suburban  amphitheatre  of  that 
magnificent  building.  Poets,  authors,  scholars,  orators, 
and  statesmen  were  among  the  vast  auditory  that  assembled 
to  witness  the  performance.  The  acting  that  followed 
revealed  beauties  in  Shakspeare  almost  undreamed  of 
before.  Booth's  Hamlet  was  no  longer  considered  his 
greatest  character.  The  ablest  critics  in  Boston  were 
forced  to  acknowledge  that,  if  his  Hamlet  was  the  most 
refined  and  natural  creation,  his  Macbeth  was  the  most 
vigorous  and  brilliant. 

Booth  never  perhaps  played  so  well  before,  unless  we 
except  his  acting  on  the  occasion  of  the  production  of 
Macbeth  for  the  first  time  at  his  new  theatre  in  New  York. 

Such  a  spell  of  enchantment  was  thrown  around  the 
play,  that  even  the  weird  sisters  appeared  not  as  fanciful 
creations  but  as  fearful  realities. 


148  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

The  scene  previous  to  Duncan's  murder  was  grandly 
portrayed.  We  felt  that  Lady  Macbeth  indeed  shamed 
her  husband  with  a  superhuman  audacity  when  JANAUS- 
CHEK  delivered  the  following  : — 

"  What  beast  was  it,  then, 
That  made  you  break  the  enterprise  to  me  ? 
When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man  ; 
And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  than  man.     Nor  time,  nor  place, 
Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both  : 
They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness  now 
Does  unmake  you.     I  have  given  suck  and  knew 
How  tender  'tis  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me  : 
I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  plucked  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums, 
And  dashed  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn 
As  you  have  done  to  this  !  " 

It  is  said  that  Mrs.  Siddons,  in  her  personation  of  Lady 
Macbeth,  uttered  these  horrible  words  in  a  demoniacal 
scream,  as  if  frightened  to  madness  by  the  audacity  of  her 
language.  Upon  which  Hudson  says,  "  We  can  easily  con 
ceive  how  a  spasmodic  action  of  fear  might  lend  her  the 
appearance  of  superhuman  or  inhuman  boldness.  At  all 
events,  it  should  be  observed  that  Lady  Macbeth's  energy 
and  intensity  of  purpose  overbears  the  feelings  of  the 
woman,  and  that  some  of  her  words  are  spoken  more  as 
suiting  the  former  than  as  springing  from  the  latter ;  and 
her  convulsive  struggle  of  feeling  against  that  overbearing 
violence  of  purpose  might  well  be  expressed  by  a  scream." 

When  JANAUSCHEK  uttered  this  speech,  her  voice  sud 
denly  assumed  a  deep  and  husky  tone.  There  was  some 
thing  almost  unearthly  about  it.  Her  words  seemed  to 
come  from  her  lips  shivering  with  horror,  conveying  the 
loftiest  ideas  of  impassioned  scorn  —  infinitely,  we  think, 
more  effective  than  any  maniacal  scream,  and  which  might 


JANAUSCHEK.  149 

well  overcome  Macbeth's  determination    "to  proceed  no 
further  in  this  business." 

It  would,  however,  be  a  difficult  matter  to  determine 
which  scene  was  the  greater:  the  one  which  we  have 
endeavored  to  describe,  or  that  in  which  the  following 
dialogue  takes  place  :  — 

"  Lady  M.     Give  him  tending — 
He  brings  great  news. 
The  raven  himself  is  hoarse, 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements.     Come,  all  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex  me  here  ; 
And  fill  me,  from  the  crown  to  the  toe,  top-full 
Of  direst  cruelty !  make  thick  my  blood ; 
Stop  up  th'  access  and  passage  to  remorse ; 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose  ;  nor  keep  pace  between 
The  effect,  and  it !     Come  to  my  woman's  breasts, 
And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murdering  ministers, 
Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 
You  wait  on  nature's  mischief!     Come,  thick  night, 
And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell ! 
That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes, 
Nor  Heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark, 
To  cry,  «  Hold,  hold  !  '— 

Enter  MACBETH. 

"  Great  Glamis  !  worthy  Cawdor  ! 
Greater  than  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter  ! 
Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 
This  ignorant  present,  and  I  feel  now 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Macb.     My  dearest  love, 
Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.     And  when  goes  hence  ? 

Macb.     To-morrow  —  as  he  purposes. 

Lady  M.     Oh,  never 
Shall  sun  that  morrow  see  ! 
Your  face,  my  Thane,  is  as  a  book,  where  men 


150  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

May  read  strange  matters. — To  beguile  the  time, 
Look  like  the  time  ;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye, 
Your  hand  your  tongue  ;  look  like  the  innocent  flower, 
But  be  the  serpent  under  it.     He  that's  coming 
Must  be  provided  for  :  and  you  shall  put 
This  night's  great  business  into  my  dispatch  ; 
Which  shall  to  all  our  days  and  nights  to  come 
Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom." 

JANAUSCHEK'S  genius  is  probably  better  displayed  in  the 
sleep-walking  scene  than  in  any  other  in  the  play.  Booth 
himself  remarked  to  us  that  this  scene  could  not  be  sur 
passed,  and  that  JANAUSCHEK  was  the  only  actress  he  ever 
saw  who  seemed  capable  of  comprehending  the  lofty  hero 
ism,  and  womanly  refinement  combined  with  the  unscrupu 
lous  daring  and  demoniacal  fury  and  firmness  of  the  char 
acter. 

Her  form  seemed  wasted  with  torturing  and  sleepless 
midnight  watchings,  and  the  glazed  glamour  displayed 
terribly  upon  her  haggard  countenance  the  ever-burning 
fever  of  remorse,  when  she,  "  open-eyed  yet  sightless," 
endeavored  to  free  her  hands  from  the  imaginary  spots  of 
blood,  and  exclaimed, 

"  Out,  damned  spot !  out,  I  say  !  —  One  ;  Two  ;  Why,  then,  'tis 
time  to  do't !  —  Hell  is  murky! — Fie,  my  lord,  fie!  a  soldier,  and 
afeard  ?  What  need  we  fear  who  knows  it,  when  none  can  call  our 
power  to  account?  —  Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  man  to 
have  had  so  much  blood  in  him  ? " 

She  repeats  the  words  "  Hell  is  murky  "  with  compressed 
lips,  and  their  horrible  mockery  is  indeed  enough  to  sicken 
the  soul. 

This  scene  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  the  one  where 
she'  endeavored  to  relieve  Macbeth  of  "  thick-coming 
fancies,"  when  she  says  — 

"  How  now,  my  lord  ?  why  do  you  keep  alone, 
Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making, — 


JANA  USCHEK.  !  5 1 

Using  those  thoughts,  which  should  indeed  have  died 
With  them  they  think  on  ?    Things  without  remedy 
Should  be  without  regard  :  what's  done  is  done." 

Or  in  the  scene  where  she  says  — 

"  Come  on, 

Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o'er  your  rugged  looks, 
Be  bright  and  jovial  amongst  your  guests  to-night." 

JANAUSCHEK  does  her  utmost  to  portray  the  tender  sym 
pathy  ever  springing  up  between  Lady  Macbeth  and  her 
unhappy  husband. 

How  different  from  the  portraiture  of  Mrs.  Kemble,  who 
can  see  but  little  in  Lady  Macbeth's  character  save  blood, 
the  feeling  of  blood,  the  sight  of  blood,  and  the  smell  of 
blood,  thus  divesting  her  of  those  womanly  touches  of  na 
ture  so  apparent  when  Macbeth  leans  upon  her  for  support, 
and  says  — 

"  O,  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife !" 
and  when  she  tells  him  — 

"  You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep." 

But  we  have  not  space  to  dwell  further  upon  JANAUSCHEK'S 
acting.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  her  Lady  Macbeth  is 
such  a  creation  of  genius  that  the  students  of  Shakspeare 
will  be  grateful  for  the  insight  she  has  given  them  into  the 
soul  of  that  terrible  being,  who  was  the  prop  and  stay  of 
"  Bellona's  bridegroom  ; "  that  doomed  and  dauntless  spirit 
who  would  not  "play  false,"  and  yet  would  "wrongly 


A  PHILOLOGICAL  STUDY. 

POL. — What  do  you  read,  my  lord  ? 
HAM. — Words,  words,  words. 

THE  rules  which  form  the  grammar  of  any  particular 
language,  so  far  as  they  differ  from  those  of  any  other,  are 
occasioned  by  accidental  and  temporary  circumstances. 
Probably  for  this  reason  these  rules  have  been  treated  by 
our  ablest  scholars  and  authors  under  the  head  of  the  his 
tory  of  language  rather  than  the  science  of  language. 
Sir  John  Stoddard  says  that  in  order  to  understand  the 
English  grammar  we  must  have  a  knowledge  of  universal 
grammar  as  well  as  of  the  history  of  language.  He  says 
that  universal  grammar  disregards  that  which  is  peculiar 
to  the  speech  of  this  or  that  individual  tribe,  race,  or 
nation,  and  considers  only  what  is  common  to  man  in  all 
ages  and  countries,  both  as  to  an  arrangement  of  his 
thoughts  and  feelings  with  a  view  to  their  communication 
to  others,  and  also  as  to  the  bodily  organs  or  instruments 
with  which  the  Almighty  has  furnished  us  for  the  purpose 
of  such  communications. 

His  work  on  "  Glossology,  or  the  Historical  Relations  of 
Languages,"  dwells  at  length  on  the  possibility  and  proba 
bility  of  forming  from  the  existing  languages  a  universal 
language.  His  investigations  into  the  science  and  philo 
sophy  of  language  are  learned  and  varied  in  the  extreme. 
They  are,  however,  of  too  speculative  a  character  to  be  of 


A  PHILOLOGICAL  STUDY.  153 

much  assistance  to  those  \vho  wish  to  understand  the  prac 
tical  principles  of  Philology. 

The  English  language  is  wholly  free  from  that  labyrinth 
of  cases,  moods,  and  tenses,  common  to  the  Greek  and 
Latin. 

There  are  but  few  terminations  in  its  verbs,  and  none  at 
all  in  its  adjectives,"  save  for  the  expression  of  the  degrees 
of  comparison.  There  is  no  language  better  suited  for  the 
formation  of  derivatives  from  their  roots.  It  has  none  of 
the  untranslatable  idiomatic  expressions  of  the  French,  the 
German,  the  Spanish,  and  the  Italian. 

One  of  its  chief  beauties  is  its  distinction  of  gender, 
or  the  modification  of  its  nouns  to  denote  the  distinction  of 
sex  through  gender. 

The  French,  for  instance,  have  no  neuter  gender.  Their 
two  articles,  masculine  /<?,  and  feminine  /<7,  one  or  the  other 
is  prefixed  to  their  substantive  nouns  to  denote  their  gen 
der,  and  as  a  natural  consequence  the  most  perplexing 
difficulties  must  inevitably  follow.  Beau  in  their  lan 
guage  is  of  the  masculine  gender,  and  yet  the  fair  sex  are 
called  le  beau  sexe.  Vossius  says  that  gender  is  properly  a 
distinction  of  sex,  but  it  is  improperly  attributed  to  those 
things  which  have  not  sex,  and  only  follow  the  nature  of 
things  having  sex  in  so  far  as  the  agreement  of  substantive 
with  adjective.  Sex  is  properly  expressed  in  reference  to 
male  and  female,  as  Pythagoras  and  Theona  ;  ager,  a  field, 
therefore,  is  improperly  called  masculine,  and  herba,  an  herb, 
is  improperly  called  feminine.  But  animal  is  neuter, 
because  it  is  construed  neither  way.  It  never  occurred  to 
Vossius  that  all  substantives  could  be  properly  classed  by 
gender.  Harris  says  that  every  substantive  is  male  or 
female,  or  both  male  and  female,  or  neither  one  nor  the 
other,  so  that  with  respect  to  sexes  and  their  negation,  all 
substantives  conceivable  are  comprehended  under  this 
fourfold  consideration. 


154  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

Harris  failed  to  include  the  common  gender  in  his  classi 
fication  of  substantive  nouns.  Lindley  Murray  says  that 
there  is  no  such  gender,  and  that  the  business  of  parsing 
can  be  done  without  it.  Goold  Brown  agrees  with  Murray, 
and  says  the  term  "common  gender"  is  applicable  to  the 
learned  languages,  but  in  the  English  it  is  plainly  a  solecism. 
Noble  Butler  has  completely  overthrown  this  theory.  Ac 
cording  to  Butler,  nouns  which  are  applied  to  living  beings 
without  reference  to  sex  are  of  the  common  gender,  as 
parent,  cousin,  child,  sheep,  friend,  neighbor.  The  term 
common  gender  is  a  grammatical  term,  applied  merely  to 
the  words,  and  does  not  imply  any  common  sex. 

We  have  also  what  is  called  the  transfer  of  gender  in 
our  own  language,  and  by  means  of  it  we  are  enabled  to 
distinguish  between  prose  and  poetry,  or  between  the  lan 
guage  of  reality  and  imagination. 

For  instance,  we  can  give  form,  distinctness,  and  beauty 
to  an  object  by  raising  that  object  to  the  dignity  of  a  person. 
There  are  some  very  fine  illustrations  of  what  is  meant  by 
the  transfer  of  gender  in  Milton  and  in  the  Bible,  though 
it  is  well  enough  to  remark  that  the  neuter  possessive  pro 
nouns  were  then  not  generally  in  use. 

If  gender  were  permanently  fixed  in  our  language,  the 
following  description  of  thunder,  in  Milton,  would  lose  half 
its  beauty : — 

"  The  thunder, 

"Winged  with  red  lightning  and  impetuous  rage, 
Perhaps  has  spent  his  shafts." 

We  give  below  a  quotation  from  Milton  in  which  gender 
is  applied  with  singular  force  and  beauty  to  the  idea  of 
form  : — 

"  His  form  had  yet  not  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  archangel  ruined." 


A  PHILOLOGICAL  STUDY.  155 

But  perhaps  the  finest  example  that  can  be  given  of  the 
transfer  of  gender  occurs  in  a  description  of  night  in  the 
Book  of  Wisdom  :  —  "  While  all  things  were  in  quiet  silence, 
and  that  night  was  in  the  midst  of  her  swift  course.  Thine 
Almighty  word  leaped  down  from  Heaven  out  of  Thy  royal 
throne,  like  a  fierce  man  of  war  into  a  land  of  destruction." 

There  is  a  great  disposition  on  the  part  of  a  certain  class 
of  philologists  to  do  away  with  the  use  of  the  words  sung 
and  sprung. 

Richard  Savage  has  been  charged  with  ignorance  for  the 
use  of  sprung  and  sung,  instead  of  sprang  and  sang,  in  the 
lines, 

"  From  liberty  each  noble  science  sprung  — 
A  Bacon  brightened  and  a  Spenser  sung." 

But  we  do  not  know  of  any  reason  why  sprung  and  sung 
should  not  be  considered  correct  words.  Worcester,  in  his 
large  lexicon,  says  that  sprang  and  sang  are  obsolescents, 
and  Webster  admits  them  partially  so. 

Dr.  Bullion,  Hallock,  Pinneo,  Brown,  Kirkham,  and, 
best  of  all,  Noble  Butler,  prefer  sung  and  sprung  to  sang 
and  sprang.  In  Butler's  list  of  irregular  verbs  in  which  the 
past  tense  and  the  auxiliary  perfect  participle  are  alike  in 
form,  we  have  : — Imperfect,  or  present  infinitive,  sing ;  past 
indicative,  sung ;  auxiliary  perfect  participle,  sung.  The 
word  sang  is  placed  at  the  right  of  the  column  of  past 
indicatives  to  indicate  that  sung  is  the  choicest  word,  and 
the  one  most  in  use.  Shone  is  thus  placed  before  shined. 

We  have  in  the  same  list : — Imperfect,  or  present  infinite, 
spring  ;  past,  sprung  ;  auxiliary  perfect,  sprung.  So  like 
wise  string,  strung,  strung,  and  swing,  swung,  swung. 
Some  grammarians  prefer  drank  to  drunk  for  the  participle 
of  drink.  At  one  time  drank  was  used  occasionally  by 
good  writers,  but  according  to  Mr.  Butler  it  is  only  em 
ployed  by  writers  of  an  inferior  class.  The  best  authors 


1 5  6  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

say  "  Toasts  "  were  drunk,  and  not  "  Toasts  "  were  drank. 
We  have  a  correct  use  of  the  word  in  Coleridge's  lines, 

"  He  on  honey  dew  hath  fed 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise." 

The  following  examples  have  been  furnished  me  by  Mr. 
Butler  from  the  advanced  proof-sheets  of  his  new  gramma  : 

"Nobody  can  write  the  life  of  a  man  but  those  who  have  ate,  and 
drunk,  and  lived  in  social  intercourse  with  him." — Dr.  Johnson. 

"  The  toast  is  drunk  with  a  good  deal  of  cheering." — Dickens. 
11  Claret  equal  to  the  best  which  is  drunk  in  London." — Macaulay. 
11  O'Doherty's  health  being  drunk." — Prof.  Wilson. 

11  The  health  of  King  James  was  drunk  with  loud  acclamations." — 
Macaulay. 

"  He  had  drunk  largely." — Thackeray. 

"  Wine  was  more  generally  drunk  than  now." — Hawthorne. 

*'  I  have  not  drunk  a  glass  of  wine  for  twelve  months." — Hood. 

Probably  enough  examples  have  been  given  to  show 
that  drunk  is  preferred  to  drank  by  our  best  writers. 

Goold  Brown,  Pinneo,  and  some  other  grammarians,  set 
down  bear,  to  carry,  and  bear,  to  bring  forth,  as  two  distinct 
verbs,  the  former  with  the  participle  borne,  and  the  latter 
with  the  participle  born.  These  authors  are  supported  in 
their  theory  by  Dr.  Webster,  who  says  that  "  a  very  useful 
.  distinction  is  observed  by  good  authors,  who  in  the  sense 
of  produced  or  brought  forth  write  this  word  born,  but  in 
the  sense  of  carried  write  it  borne."  It  is  true  enough 
that  in  the  sense  of  carried  the  participle  is  borne;  but 
surely  in  the  sense  of  produced  the  participle  is  not  born. 

We  do  not  say  the  tree  has  born  fruit,  but  the  tree  has 
borne  fruit ;  nor  that  the  mother  has  born  children,  but 
borne  children.  Born  is  never  used  in  the  active  voice, 
and  never  in  the  passive  when  followed  by  the  preposition 
by. 


A  PHILOLOGICAL  STUDY.  157 

It  is  somewhat  singular  that  there  should  be  any  trouble 
whatever  about  the  correct  use  of  irregular  verbs,  and  yet 
how  often  the  transitive  verbs  Jay,  raise,  and  set,  are  con 
founded  with  the  intransitive  verbs  lie,  rise,  and  sit. 

Set,  set,  set,  and  sit,  sat,  sat,  are  as  simple  as  simplicity  it 
self.  We  set  a  thing  in  its  place,  and  we  sit  down  when  we 
are  tired.  The  same  simplicity  is  characteristic  of  lay,  laid, 
laid,  and  lie,  lay,  lain  ;  and  yet  Lord  Byron,  in  one  of  the 
sublimest  passages  in  Childe  Harold,  in  speaking  of  man 
and  his  Creator,  says  : — 

"  And  sendst  him  shivering  in  the  playful  spra)% 
And  howling  to  his  gods,  where  haply  lies 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  port  or  bay, 
And  dashest  him  again  to  earth ;  there  let  him  lay." 

Such  errors  as  "  he  laid  down,"  for  he  lay  down,  are  very 
common  in  conversation,  but  the  best  plan  we  have  seen  to 
avoid  them  is  given  by  Mr.  Butler.  It  consists  simply  of  a 
table  where  the  transitive  verbs  lay  and  set  are  conjugated 
by  the  side  of  the  intransitive  verbs  lie  and  sit. 

Dr.  Webster  contends  that  the  phrase  you  was  is  correct 
but  we  fear  few  good  writers  agree  with  him.  If  you  was  is 
correct,  it  would  be  little  use  to  argue  that  a  verb  should 
agree  with  its  subject  in  number  and  person. 

Webster  says,  "  The  verb  must  follow  its  nominative.  If 
that  denotes  unity,  so  does  the  verb."  But  there  is  not  much 
unity  in  a  pronoun  of  a  second  person  requiring  the  verb  of 
the  third  person. 

Pinneo,  in  his  grammar,  says  :  —  "In  common  conversa 
tion,  and  by  the  practised  class,  was  in  the  singular  is  almost 
always  used,  and  among  the  the  more  highly  educated  the 
tendency  is  increasing  daily."  Mr.  Butler,  in  commenting 
upon  this,  observes :  —  "If  any  unfortunate  pupil  should  be 
led  by  this  statement  to  the  use  of  you  was,  he  would  soon 
find  himself  suffering  the  penalty  of  misplaced  confidence." 


158  STUDIES  IN  LITER  A  TURE. 

Some  persons  seem  to  have"  great  difficulty  in  seeing  the 
difference  between  signification  and  form.  N.o  one  con 
tends  that  you  always  denotes  more  than  one,  as  no  one 
contends  that  we  always  denotes  more  than  one,  or  that 
the  German  sie  always  refers  to  several  persons  spoken  of. 
The  question  is  simply  about  form. 

If  you  is  not  always  plural  in  form,  let  us  say  you  art ; 
even  if  we  should  follow  the  analogy  of  you  was  and  say  you 
is.  And,  according  to  the  same  principle,  let  the  editor  of 
the  newspaper  when  he  means  only  himself  say  we  am,  or  we 
is.  We  shall  then  have  everything,  as  Tony  Lumpkins's 
friend  expresses  it,  in  "  a  concatenation  accordingly." 

The  use  of  the  plural  we  for  7  is  comparatively  of  recent 
date.  There  certainly  can  be  no  objection  to  it,  for  it  is 
nothing  like  as  egotistical  as  the  latter  form.  A  recent 
writer  tells  us  that  it  originated  with  King  John,  who  found 
out  the  art  of  multiplying  himself,  whereas  his  predecessors 
had  been  content  with  the  simple  ego.  The  use  of  we  by 
editors  when  a  single  person  is  meant,  is  explained  on  the 
ground  that  the  opinions  expressed  under  this  form  are 
those  of  a  class  or  party.  This  expression,  however,  has 
the  same  excuse  as  that  of  you  for  thou.  It  is  republican 
in  form  and  respectful  in  every  sense,  and  avoids  direct 
personality. 


FINIS. 


A  WONDERFUL   BOOK. 

JUST  PUBLISHED. 

"SEEN  AND  HEARD,"  by  MORRISON  HEADY,  the  "Blind 
Bard  of  Kentucky,""  *  as  he  was  called  by  the  late  George  D. 
Prentice.  A  collection  of  poems  by  an  author  Blind  and  Deaf, 
would  be  of  the  highest  interest,  if  its  merits  were  only  ordi 
nary  ;  but,  as  the  work  is  one  of  true  poetry,  showing  the  writer 
to  be  a  man  of  rarest  endowments  and  high  poetic  genius, 
the  "  surprise  and  admiration  "  of  the  veteran  poet  Whittier 
cannot  be  wondered  at,  and  his  assertion  that  he  "  knows  of 
nothing  in  modern  literature  more  remarkable  "  than  this 
book,  will  be  reechoed  by  every  person  that  reads  it.  The  late 
Geo.  D.  Prentice,  himself  a  distinguished  poet  and  a  world- 
renowned  Journalist  and  critic,  adds  new  strength  to  Mr. 
Whittier's  endorsement,  by  saying  "the  people  of  Mr.  Heady's 
State  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  him.  When  I  consider  the. 
disadvantages  that  have  doubly  rested  upon  him  throughout 
nearly  all  his  life,  I  cannot  but,  wonder  at  what  he  has  been  able 
to  achieve." 

The  volume  is  an  elegant  one,  beautifully  printed  on  the 
finest  tinted  paper,  nnd  richly  bound  in  a  novel  style  — an  ele 
gant  ornament  alike  for  the  Parlor  Table  or  the  Library  Shelf. 
Price  $2.00.  Sent  Postage  Free,  upon  receipt  of  price  to  any 
part  of  the  country. 

H.  C.  TURNBULL,  JR., 

54  Lexington  st, 

BALTIMORE. 


[Copy  of  a  letter  written  to  Morrison  Heady, by  the  late  Geo.  D.  Prentice.} 

LOUISVILLE,  KY.,  Kov.  llth,  1869. 
MR.  MORRISON  HEADY, 

Dear  Sir  /—Permit  me  to  thank  you  very  heartily  for  your  recently 
published  volume  of  poetry.  1  Lave  read  the  whole  of  it  with  much 
pleasure,  and  a  large  portion  of  it  with  high  admiration.  It  has 
passages  that  I  think  sublime.  That  such  a  book  could  be  produced 
by  a  poet  under  the  extraordinary  disadvantages  that  rest  upon  you 
is  to  me  a  matter  of  wonder.  Accept  my  best  wishes  for  your  hap 
piness  and  fame.  Yours  truly, 

GEO.  D.  PRENTICE. 

[  Copy  of  a  letter  nceived  by  the  publisher  from  the  late  Geo.  D.  Prentice.} 

LOUISVILLE,  Nov.  Yith,  1869. 
MR.  HENRY  C.  TUKNBULL,  JR., 

Dear  Sir :— I  thank  you  for  a  very  finely  printed  and  bound  volume 
of  the  poems  of  Morrison  Heady,  the  Deaf  and  Blind  poet  of  Ken- 


11 

tucky  ;  I  think  that  it  has  very  fine  merit.  I  have  known  the  Author 
many  years,  and  always  regarded  him  as  a  man  of  genius  and  true  in 
spiration.  The  people  of  his  State  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  him. 
When  I  consider  the  disadvantages  that  have  doubly  rested  upon  him 
throughout  nearly  all  his  life,  1  cannot  but  wonder  at  what  he  has 
been  able  to  achieve. 

Very  respectfully, 

GEO.  D  PRENTICE. 


[  Copy  of  a  letter  received  by  the.  publisher  fi  om  the  celebrated  and  veteran 
ljoet,  J.  G.  WUITTIEU  ] 

AMESBURY*,  IWi  October,  18G9. 
DEAR  SIR  : 

I  thank  thee  for  a  copy  of  the  beautiful  volume  of  my  friend 
Ileady's  Poems.  Some  years  ago  I  read  with  surprise  and  admira 
tion  the  opening  poem  in  the  book,  in  which  he  described  with 
almost  Miltonic  power  and  pathos  his  double  night  of  blindness  and 
deafness.  I  have  looked  over  the  long  Indian  Poem,  which,  notwith 
standing  what  seems  to  me  an  unfortunate  rhythmical  method,  isfull 
of  felicitous  passages  of  description  and  characterisation,  whichauy 
one  in  possession  of  all  his  senses  might  well  be  proud  of.  The  same 
•might  be  said  of  the  Apocalypse  of  the  treasons,  which  rises  from  quiet 
pastoral  beauty  to  a  lofty  hymn  of  Christian  faith  and  hope.  As 
might  be  expected,  the  volume  is  open  to  criticism,  out  1  kntnv  of 
iioihingin  modern  literature  rnorertmaikable  than  its  production  under 
the  circumstances  in  ichich  its  author  i«  placed. 
I  am,  very  truly,  thy  friend, 

JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


COPY. 

[Extracts  from  a  Utter,  published  in  the  "  Virginia  Gazette,"  written  by 

MRS.  MAKGARET  J.  PRESTON,  author  of  "Beechenbrook,"  and 

other  2wems.] 

Nothing  superior  to  the  volume  $etn  and  Heard,  in  typography, 
paper  or  binding,  has  ever  been  issued  from  any  press  south  of  Phil 
adelphia.  *****  The  Poems  feenand  Heard  ought  not  to  he 
arraigned  at  the  bar  of  ordinary  criticism.  The  knowledge  that  they 
are  the  production  of  one  who  is  forever  shut  within  that  drear  do 
main, 

"  Where  echoless  Silence  tolls  the  passing  bell- 
Where  shadowless  Darkness  weaves  the  shrouding  spell," 

as  he  himself  so  mournfully  describes  it  in  the  Poem  entitled  The, 
Double  Night,  would,  or  at  Leaat«A0f#<2,  drain  from  the  bitterest  critical 
pen  all  its  venom.  And  even  were  the  contents  of  the  book  far  less 
creditable  than  they  are,  who  would  not  stretch  out  in  utmost  ten 
derness,  a  helping  and  pitying  hand  to  aid  the  uncertain  footsteps  of 
this  sad  groper  through  Olympian  arcades  ? 

MR.  HEADY'S  pages  abound  in  such  rich  imagery,  display  so  much 
delicate  sketching  from  nature,  and  manifest  an  almost.  Flemish  finish 
in  details,  that  it  is  hard  to  persuade  oneself  that  almost  since  child 
hood  he  has  been  wrapped  in  "-ever-during  dark."  But  Providence 
has  given  him  a  compensation  in  the  possession  of 

"That  inner  eye. 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude." 

*  *  *  *  Heartily  do  we  commend  this  volume  to  the  kind  appre 
ciation  of  the  reading  public.  We  feel  sure  that  the  blind  man's  ex 
quisite  sense  of  touch  must  be  gratified  as  he  passes  his  hand  over 


Ill 

the  creamy  leaves  and  handles  the  rich  binding.  We  hope  for  hiin 
the  still  higher  gratilicatiou  of  a  wide  circle  of  most  appreciative 
readers. 


Feen  and  Heard.  Poems  or  the  like.  Why  Mr.  Heady  allowed  the 
last  three  words  of  the  title  to  accompany  the  other  four,  we  caimot 
understand;  for  if  his  he  not  poetry,  we  know  not  what  is:  and 
poetry,  too,  of  a  high  order.  *****  The  longest  poem  in  the 
book  is  YOONKM?KOTA  :  an  Indian  Idyll.  It  enters  as  fully  into  Indian 
modes  of  thought  and  feeling,  and  speech,  as  Longfellow's  Hiawatha* 
and  is,  in  our  opinion,  fully  equal  to  it  in  everything  except  perhaps 
the  artistic fluUh.  Mor  is  it  an  imitation:  for,  in  the  first  place,  it  is 
written  in  several  different  measures  ;  and  in  the  second  place,  parts 
of  it  date  back  to  1852.  which  is  three  or  four  years  earlier  than  the 
publication  of  Hiawatha.  *  *  *  *  In  the  Apocalypse  of  the  sea 
sons,  at  the  close  of  the  book,  the  description  of  that  apparently  un- 
poetical  thing  — the  Heaping  Machine— ia  equal  to  anything  in 
Thomson.  We  wish  we  had  space  for  it ;  but  we  muet  content  our 
selves  with  advising  our  agricultural  friends  to  get  the  book  and  read 
it  for  themselves.  *  *  *  *  The  book  is  beautifully  gotten  up, 
and  will  bear  comparison  with  the  best  productions  of  the  American 
Press. — Southern  R 


follows  the  Double  Right,  and  is  full  of  many 
beauties,  and  written  in  that  style  so  very  rare  and  beautiful,  seldom 
found,  and  strange  to  say,  by  the  "•  mass  "  of  readers,  not  appreciated 
as  its  truly  beautiful  rhythm  merits.  *  *  *  The  End  of  Time  is 
an  unparalleled  poem,  which,  in  awful  sublimity  and  grandeur,  ex 
ceeds  anything  we  have  ever  read.  *  *  *  *  This  collection  of 
poems,  taken  separately  or  collectively,  is  a  rare  jewel,  and  should 
gra9e  the  library  of  every  lover  of  what  is  really  beautiful.  *  *  * 
The  volume  is  gotten  up  in"  the  very  best  style,  surpassing  in  fact 
anything  we  have  ever  seen.— Spencer  Journal,  Ky. 

*  *  *  It  is  interesting  to  note  what  perceptions  he  still  retains 
from  the  days  when  he  looked  out  on  the  world  with  youthful  eye, 
not  knowing  how  brief  the  time  allotted  him  to  amass  a  treasure  of 
fair  sights  and  sounds  to  serve  as  his  portion  of  earth's  beauty  during 
his  life-time  to  come.  It  is  interesting  to  note  these  memories,  their 
vividness,  and  the  skill  with  which  he  uses  the  things  which  he  has 
once '•  seen  and  heard."  *  *  *  *  We  are  astonished  at  the  wealth- 
of  a  memory  which  is  ever  ready  with  life-like  pictures, as  if  the  poet 
had  come  fresh  from  the  hills  and  forests  of  his  native  Kentucky,  to 
fix  the  fleeting  images  on  paper. 


Yoommskota,  an  Indian  Idyll,  is  decidedly  the  most  powerful  and 
original  of  these  poems,  both  in  matter  and  in  form.  *  *  *  * 
The  descriptions  of  scenery  in  the  poem  are  everywhere  singularly 
fresh  and  vivid.  For  instance,  the  moon-rise,  where  we  actually  see 
the  widening  light,  the  sharp  edge  suddenly  protruding  above  the 
peak,  and  then  the  full-orbed  splendor  as  the  planet  disengages  her 
self  and  hangs  clear  and  round  in  the  sky.  so  the  sunset  and  the 
sunrise,  with  the  successive  awakening  of  motion  and  life  among 
inanimate  things,  the  creatures  of  the  forest,  and  finally  the  red  men 
in  their  lodges.  *  :  *  *  But  Mr.  Heady  can  depict  sweet  and 
peaceful  scenes  as  well  as  eavage  ferocities,  and  depicts  them  too  in 
befittiugly  musical  verse.  *  *  *  *  We  feel  no  hesitation  in  pro 
nouncing  Mr.  Heady  a  poet  of  true  genius  and  no  mean  skill  in  his  art, 
whose  works  under  any  circumstances  would  attract  notice  and  de 
serve  praise;  but  which,  considering  the  deprivations  under  which 
the  author  suffers,  are  little  less  than  wonderful.  We  should  not  do 
entire  justice  to  the  book  were  we  to  omit  to  notice  the  extreme  ele 
gance  of  its  dress  and  general  finish,  on  which  the  publisher  seems  to 
have  spared  neither  care  nor  coat. — Baltimore  Statesman. 


IV 

*  *  *  "  Seen  and  Heard"  is  the  title  of  an  elegant  volume  of 
poems,  *  *  *  *  all  of  which  display  poetic  power,  and  even  if 
not  issued  under  peculiar  circumstances,  which  lend  additional  in 
terest,  the  work  would  be  worth  while  as  one  of  the  best  collections 
of  amateur  poetry  made  for  some  time.  The  elegance  of  the  paper, 
typography  and  binding,  are  worthy  of  note.—  New  York  Evening 
Mail. 


*  *  Mr.  Ileady's  compositions  show  a  great  deal  of  poetical 
feeling,  and  profound  sensibility  to  and  love  of  the  phenomena  of 
nature,  and  they  are  ethically  of  a  transparent  purity  and  sweetness. 
It  is  impossible  to  say  how  high  Mr.  Heady  would  have  risen  in  his 
chosen  path  with  the  use  of  all  his  exterior  senses.  For  one  deprived 
of  the  two  chief  ones,  his  powers  of  imagination,  expression  and 
description  are  very  remarkable,  and  the  poetical  merit  of  his  com 
positions  very  high.— American  Publisher  and  bookseller,  N.  Y. 

This  strangely  named  volume  is  the  product  of  a  true  and  remark 
able  genius.  Deprived  of  sight  and  hearing  when  a  youth,  whatever 
imagery  the  poet  draws  ef  external  nature  must  come  from  memory's 
storehouse,  lighted  up  by  fancy's  glowing  lamp.  Hence,  "  Seen  and 
Heard."  And  it  is  surprising  how  well  stored  is  his  memory,  and 
how  vividly  the  poet's  fancy  paints  the  many-voiced  and  ever-varying 
outer  world  that  has  so  long  been  to  him  as  a  sealed  book.  His 
shorter  poems  are  smooth  of  verse,  pathetic,  finely  expressive  in 
language  and  versification.  In  "  Yoonemskota"  Mr.  Heady  shows 
himself  to  be  a  poet  of  original  and  varied  powers.  Here  we  have 
the  Indians,  and  their  haunts,  and  their  ways  of  life,  the  seasons  and 
their  phenomena,  all  the  varying  aspects  of  nature,  limned  with  rare 
freshness,  force  and  fidelity,  aglow  with  striking  and  highly  poetical 
imagery,  and  evincing  no  common  mastery  of  rhythmical  harmony  and 
variety  of  movement.  There  are  scenes  or  situations  in  this  poem  so 
•uncommonly  fresh  and  vivid  in  conception  and  handling,  as  would 
furnish  worthy  subjects  for  the  greatest  living  Painters.  *  *  *  * 
Mr.  Heady  is  certainly  no  "mute,  inglorious  Milton."  Only  one  of  a 
very  rare  order  of  endowments  could  have  written  these  poems  under 
similar  afflictions.  The  style  in  which  the  volume  is  brought  out  re 
flects  high  credit  upon  the  publisher. — New  Orleans  Picayune. 

*  *    *    *    These  poems  exhibit  a  power  of  personification  equal  to 
that  of  Shelley,  and  a  delicacy  and  truthfulness  of  touch  in  word- 
painting  that  imparts  to  their  descriptions  of  nature  a  life-likeness, 
reminding  us  of  Keats'  Jive  of  St.  A  gnes.    *****     The  Apoca 
lypse  of  the  Seasons  is  a  poem  that  we  were  charmed  with  at  first 
sight,  and  have  learned  to  love  more  and  more  with  each  successive 
reading,  until  admiration  has  become  a  passion.    *    *    *    *    The 
book  is  appropriately  named.    For  although  the  poet  is  blind  and 
deaf,  so  real  are  his  conceptions  that  we  are  constrained  to  acknow 
ledge  he  has  seen  deeper  into  nature's  soul,  and  heard  more  of  her 
confidential  whispers  than  ourselves,  with  eyes  and  ears  open  to 
every  sight  and  sound.    He  has  almost  beguiled  us  of  our  sympathy 
for  his  affliction,  and  tempted  us  to  covet  a  glimpse  of  the  glorious 
worlds  of  fancy  "  forever  singing  as  they  shine,"  which  has  made  his 
"  Double  Night,"  "  a  day  supernal."— Baltimore  Episcopal  Methodist. 

*  *    *    Mr.  Heady's  privations,  which  in  ordinary  men  would  be  re 
garded  as  a  sufficient  reason  for  inactivity,  seem  to  have  stimulated 
our  author  to  preternatural  thirst  for  knowledge  and  industry  in  its 
acquisition.    The  result  we  have  in  part  in  the  exquisite  volume  now 
before  us.    The  art  of  the  printer  has  fitly  set  these  jewels.    No  one 
need  fear  to  purchase  lest  he  should  buy  pinchbeck  for  gold,  or  paste 
for  diamonds.    =     *    *    *    Those  loving  true  poetry  will  buy  the 
volume  and  react  for  themselves.    The  enjoyment  we  guarantee. — 
Lexington  Gazette. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-25m-6,'66(G3855s4)458 


N°  469929 


Griffin,   G.W. 

Studies  in  literature 


PN511 
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LIBRARY 

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